


Of Cats and Dogs

by crazywrite



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Companions Questline, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazywrite/pseuds/crazywrite
Summary: After gallivanting through Skyrim, becoming the leader of some (less than reputable) guilds, Ranahad finally takes up the offer to join the Companions. If no one knows that she's the famous Dragonborn, what can possibly go wrong?(Everything. Everything goes wrong. As usual.)





	1. The Cat of Whiterun

After traversing the woods and marshes and tundras of Skyrim, I was always drawn back to one city in particular. Whiterun. Perhaps it was the first hold capital that I’d ever visited and the people there were nice, unlike more xenophobic capitals. It was a nice place where the air was clear and its place in the middle of Skyrim was the perfect place to drop off things in between errands and quests of all kinds.

But the thing that bothered me was the _smell_. Underneath the smell of earth and city, there was a staunch undercurrent of wet dog. Or, more precisely, wet wolf. I’d learned the difference after getting stuck in a downpour with a certain chatty canine.

It was easier to ignore now, with the Gildergreen alive and well. The flowery scents of the great tree’s petals alleviated the stench somewhat but it still pervaded the town like a dropped sweetroll left to rot underneath the table.

I brought this up to Lydia one night as we caught up over drinks at the Bannered Mare. She blinked at me, confused at the question I’d asked. “Smell? I don’t notice anything.”

“That’s odd,” I muttered, swirling my wine in its flagon. Lydia took a long drink out of hers, the fermented honey scent of mead wafting towards me as she set it down.

“Maybe it’s because you’re Khajiit,” she offered. The tavern had become silent at that particular moment and her comment filtered throughout the small area and I felt the gaze of everyone on me.

My ears folded back in embarrassment as I lifted my flagon, aware of every scrap of fur on my body. It had taken a long while for the people of Whiterun to trust me, to not see me as yet another one of the caravaners, eager for an unguarded purse or the next hit of skooma. People seemed to trust me now, smiling and attempting at pleasantries. But it was still slow work.

The silence was broken as Mikael started singing and everyone continued on with their merriment. I sipped angrily at my wine and Lydia was quick to engage me in conversation. She and I both knew if I stewed too long in my thoughts, I’d get mad and unleash the Thu’um on unsuspecting patrons.

“How was Solstheim?” Lydia asked.

I shrugged as I picked up an apple off the table, claws pressing into the soft skin of the fruit. “It was interesting to say the least. The south is like Morrowind while the north is just like Skyrim.”

“Is it true that there are werebears?” Lydia’s eyes were wide; she lived for my stories, no matter how gory they could get.

I nodded and bit into the apple. It was tangy and sweet and I licked my lips as the sweet juices dribbled down my chin. “Yup. They’re nasty little buggers. Fortunately, they’re mostly solitary and don’t live in packs like werewolves.”

I heard a sound of a horn of mead crashing to the ground from around the long fireplace and I looked up to see the twins Farkas and Vilkas watching me with their bright silver eyes. Vilkas’s hand which had previously held the mead was balled in a tight fist on his knee, the large scarred knuckles a bright white. I could hear Saadia trying to clean up the mess but the ferocity in those eyes in identical faces left me both intrigued and unnerved.

“And those little blue things?” Lydia was still interested in hearing about Solstheim it seemed. “What’re they like?”

“Annoying,” I said. “Although I helped a group that had taken over a mead hall. The one riekling that could speak thought I wanted to be the new chief so he attacked me and somehow I ended up as the new chief.”

“Oh that explains the . . .”

“Bubba, yeah.” There had been one riekling that didn’t want to leave me and had followed me all around the island and had clung to my leg as I tried to get rid of him to go back to Skyrim. I’d given in and let him follow me back to Windhelm, scaring the workers with his grunting and twitchy movements.

“And what was all that stuff about the first Dragonborn? Did he really try to enslave the entire island?”

I sighed as something deep inside me wriggled, tight and hungry and mad. _Why won’t you just fucking disappear already?_ I thought forlornly. _Just fade away like the rest of them, dammit!_ “I’d love to tell you the whole story but . . . later, okay?”

She nodded and dropped the subject. I’d gladly regale to my housecarl the details of the Black Books, of the monotheistic Skaal and prickly Neloth. But most people didn’t realize that I was the Dragonborn and I’d like to keep it that way.

“How is Whiterun, by the way?” I asked, feeling the foreign soul pace angrily. “Have new portals to Oblivion opened?”

Lydia laughed and I was, for a moment, enchanted by the curve of her lips. It was surprising that she was still unwed but then again, she was so dedicated to her role of my protector that love probably did not factor much into her life. “No, but there have been reports of howling on the plains.”

Again I felt the stares of the twin Companions and I had the feeling that not everything was as it seemed in quiet little Whiterun.

* * *

 

I didn’t have very many pressing matters at the moment, so I elected to stay in Whiterun for a while. After Solstheim, I needed a break from all this Dragonborn shit and just be a normal person for once.

“Yes, we need bread, carrots, apples, and venison,” Lydia said, glancing down at the scrap of parchment.

“Anything else?” I asked, grabbing it from her.

Lydia bit her lip. “Nothing I can think of at the moment. But if anything interests you, go ahead.”

I smiled and grabbed a bag of gold, more than what was really necessary for a simple trip to the market but I had much to spare. I was much like a dragon in that sense, hoarding every scrap of wealth I found on my travels.

I laughed and ascended the stairs into the market, where business was already booming. Carlotta smiled at me as I brought produce, making idle chat as I paid. She was one of the villagers that actually seemed to like me, but I had a feeling it was because I’d roughed up Mikeal a while back.

“You’re gonna be here for a while?” Carlotta asked as she counted my coin.

I shrugged. “I guess. I need a break from adventuring for a bit, I think.”

She nodded as her daughter pulled at her dress. Mila was sweet but annoying at times. “Well, I hope you stay, Ranahad. Whiterun isn’t the same without you.”

The smile that wound across my face was genuine. “Thank you, Carlotta. I wish others thought the same as you.”

I left them then, not wanting to think of other holds where my presence wasn’t exactly welcome. Unsurprisingly, Winhelm had been the worst. Even after I’d helped the guards dispatch a serial killer and bought Hjerim, I still had problems being allowed in the gates or people refusing my coin. Even after playing the Dragonborn card, I still had to pay fines for entering certain cities.

I made the rest of my purchases, stopping by the meat stall and dropping in by Arcadia’s to buy some alchemical ingredients to dick around with.

After dropping off my purchases back at Breezehome, I walked to the Wind District, the mingling scents of blossoms and wolf blurring together into a hybrid scent strongest here. I took a deep breath and let myself relax for once.

It was practically perfect, a place where time slowed and hours could pass in the blink of an eye. I rolled my shoulders and sat down at the base of the Gildergreen and watched the drifting petals to try and clear my thoughts.

So much had happened in Solstheim, and so fast that I barely had time to recognize what was going on at the time. It wasn’t until after Miraak’s defeat that I really had time to ponder my time on that tiny island and all of the wandering I did in Apocrypha.

Even now, I felt the burning desire to claim more information until my hands were raw and eyes unfocused. I was the champion of many a Daedra—they seemed to seek me out, it seemed—but Hermaeus Mora seemed to have the most effect on my psyche.

_Give in,_ that voice whispered to me. _You can stuff it down for a while but even the toughest resolve will break with enough pressure._ The voice spoke as if it had felt that desire before and it had, for many millennia before I came along.

“ _We are but maggots, writhing in the filth of our own corruption! While you have ascended from the dung of mortality, and now walk among the stars!_ ”

My inner thoughts shattered into a thousand bits as Heimskr’s sermon was carried to my ears with the wind. I tolerated the ranting Nord most days but for some reason, I just wasn’t having it. I stood up, ready to leave the city for a while, perhaps to the tundras to learn the next word of Soul Tear from Durnheviir, when Heimskr started raving again.

“You!” he screamed, and I glanced over my shoulder. He had one shaking finger pointed at something and I frowned in confusion.

“You! Cat!”

_Oh_.

I turned around, tail swishing in warning. “Yes, Heimskr?” I asked politely.

“Why do you wear the amulet of Talos?”

I grasped the amulet at my throat. Usually it was easily hidden underneath the high collars of my armor but I was wearing a dress today, one with a wider neckline. “Why does it matter to you?” I snapped, lips peeling back into a snarl. I could feel the stares from the steps of Jorrvaskr watch my back. A sick part of me wondered if some were hoping they could put me down for disrespecting the toady priest of Talos.

“Why do you, a Khajiit, wear the amulet of a Nordic god?” the priest asked.

“None of your business.” It was one of the remaining trinkets I had from the only person that had taken pity on me. Her smile was radiant when she’d given it to me and it had been the brightest thing in an incredibly dark place. That, and it seemed to help me recover from shouts quicker.

“Talos was a Nord,” he said as if it were new and interesting information instead of facts that were shoved down everybody’s throats.

“And that matters why?” Even though my beliefs leaned more towards the Khajiiti pantheon, I held a fondness for the Nordic god. Perhaps it was because he was Dragonborn like me.

“I doubt he would favor you,” Heimskr said, his eyes glassy with anger. “No Nordic deity would ever want a _beast_ as a follower.”

I heard a few gasps behind me. Apparently the gap in the priest’s sermon had drawn a crowd. I could feel the stares of people on my back as they waited for me to react. The feral part of me wanted to jump on him and eviscerate him with claws but the more rational part decided a friendly discussion would be better.

I took a breath to calm myself and walked up to the large statue of Talos, his stone face impassive as the snake writhed beneath his boot. “I know you think that only Nords are worthy of Talos’s boon but what is this then?”

I placed my hand on the small shrine at the base of the statue, and felt the energy flow deep into my being, a healing blue light wrapping around my form. I could almost sense Talos as I touched the shrine, silent and stout but full of destructive energy.

Heimskr’s eyes bugged out as I took my hand off the shrine and brushed a stray stand of sable hair past my tall ears. “You have anything else to say, _priest_?”

His mouth flopped opened and I smirked in victory. “That’s was I thought,” I said and pivoted on my heel. I walked past Jorrvaskr, the Companions watching closely. If I glanced behind me, I’d no doubt see the twins and perhaps Aela.

As I walked back to Breezehome, I could feel all of the stares follow me. When I got home, I slammed the door behind me, the feral part gaining dominance.

“I _hate_ Skyrim!” I screamed to an empty house. Lydia would no doubt ream my ass later when she got back from Dragonsreach but that would be hours from now.

I groaned and flopped in front of the fire, trying to quell all of the thoughts that roiled around my head. It did no good to stew in dark thoughts, so I did what my race excelled at.

I crawled up beside the fire and took a nap.

* * *

 

Lydia did have some choice words for me but she wasn’t as angry as I thought she’d be. She berated me for my actions but laughed when I told of Heimskr’s bug-eyed look.

“I’m surprised no one has called the Dark Brotherhood yet,” Lydia commented as we polished off the rest of last night’s stew.

“No doubt the contract would be done by the Battle-Borns,” I said, staring dourly at my reflection in the broth. The mention of the Brotherhood sent a pang of longing deep in my heart. I’d had a lot of fun with that band of misfits but then the assassination of the Emperor happened. Not that I felt bad about that—I’d cackled as I slit the old man’s throat—but I missed my family back in Dawnstar.

If I concentrated enough, I could hear the Night Mother’s whispers for poor souls that wished to send someone to the Void. I would return eventually to her but for now, I just wanted some sort of normalcy in my life for at least a little while.

Things like going to the market and hunting on the plains and dicking around with scalding hot metals were normal. I liked Breezehome’s proximity to Warmaiden’s, as Adrianne had a decent forge that was a stone’s throw away from my house. Also she didn’t comment on what I crafted at her forge.

“How are the lockpicks coming along?” she asked as she sharpened a longsword that had previously been bent in half.

I frowned down at the hot iron, bright red from the forge’s heat. “Okay, I guess. It’s just very precise work—” Just as I said this, Bubba started shrieking and the sudden noise made me jump. I looked down at the lockpick and saw that it was bent at a crazy angle.

“Gods dammit, you stupid riekling!” The little blue creature was still shrieking, causing the guards to stare at me. I abandoned my project and walked over to the smelter where Bubba was brandishing the shovel like a sword.

“What’s he so worried about?” Adrianne asked, not looking up from the wheel. She’d grown accustomed to his jumpy presence as he spent most of his time behind my house.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. Rieklings had a primitive sort of language but I had no idea how to decipher it. Bubba pulled on my deerskin breeches and pointed to the gates where people were trickling in. Nothing seemed that odd about them but there were a few that were cloaked even though it was past midday. Their jerky movements made my ears fold back in unease.

“Adrianne, I think you should go inside,” I said. She looked up and frowned at the seriousness in my voice.

“Why, what’s going—”

The sound of metal being pulled out of a sheath made us both look to the gates. The guards had barely any time to react as three cloaked travelers began attacking. I grabbed the twin axes at my belt as one of the attackers, a wide-eyed Dunmer, opened a palm and red tendrils began coming out of a nearby guard.

“Vampires!” I screeched and ran towards the gate. One of the figures, a thrall from the looks of his blue eyes, ran towards me and I responded by crossing my blades in an X pattern and whipping them across the bare skin of his abdomen. The Nord looked down in abject horror as his intestines began to spill out of his body. We met eyes and then he slumped down to the ground, bleeding out in a matter of moments. I looked up from the thrall’s mangled corpse to see carnage underneath Whiterun’s gate.

The guards had managed to kill a Redguard vampire but had yet to take out the Dunmer, which I quickly assumed as the master. I hissed and ran towards the rogue. A few of the townspeople were trying to help quell the elf but he evaded their blows easily. His hand seemed to constantly drain energy from various victims which contributed to his seemingly unending stamina.

“Cut his hand off!” I screamed. Armen noticed my scream and his sword came down hard on the elf’s wrist. It wasn’t sharp enough to cut through his hand entirely but it shattered his entire wrist and the magic faded as his hand flipped limply onto his forearm in an incredibly unnatural position.

I embedded my axes deep in his skull as his scream reverberated against the worn stone. He went limp quickly as the blades sliced deep into gooey brain matter. I eased them out and the Dunmer’s body slumped to the cobblestones.

I looked up and the citizens that had aided in the attack. Some were nodding in appreciation, others were shaking in fear and shock. I sheathed my axes and made a beeline for Breezehome.

If this was normal, then so be it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is last year's NaNoWriMo project that I didn't actually hate after stalling. I really enjoyed writing Ranahad and her various adventures through Skyrim so, hey, why not put it on AO3? Updates will probably be sporadic but I promise I'll try to not abandon this piece. 
> 
> Leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed! :)


	2. Sun and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranahad relaxes in the sun, celebrates a not-so-happy anniversary, and contemplates an old offer. It's all very domestic.

Summer passed through Whiterun hold, languid and humid. I relished in the heat of the sun, energized by its rays. It was at times like these that I felt like a true Khajiit, sweating my tail off as I got things done.

I did odd jobs for the residents, too jittery to spend all of my time fanning myself and sipping chilled cider. It ranged from killing the odd bandit party to threatening Braith to stop being such a little shit to Lars.

“How do you do it, Ranahad? I feel like I’m going to melt,” Ysolda complained one day as I worked on repairing her roof which had been damaged in a recent thunderstorm. I glanced down from my spot straddling the roof and saw my friend lounging in the crunchy dead grass, eyes closed against the unforgiving sun. After many years of living in Skyrim, I was convinced that a Nord was not truly happy unless they were freezing their hairless asses off.

I shrugged. “I’m a Khajiit. Nords can take the cold while Khajiit can handle the warmth.”

“I wouldn’t want to live in a place where I’d be sweating all day and night.”

I laughed as I laid a plank down over the large hole in the roof. If I looked down, I could see Ysolda’s bedroom, overflowing with trinkets the caravans often paid her in. I wouldn’t have minded palming a few things but Ysolda was my best friend and I wouldn’t betray her trust like that.

“Ysolda, the nights can get cold in the desert. You’d be wishing for a coat of fur like mine when the temperatures dip to the likes of Windhelm or Dawnstar.”

“ _Really?_ ” I smiled at her shocked tone. I could easily assume that the pretty Nord girl that stood up for the Khajiit wanted to explore the world but her duties to Whiterun crushed those dreams. Perhaps a little exploring was in our future.

I continued nailing the new planks onto the roof, the sawdust and iron filings coating my fur. I would need a bath afterwards. I couldn’t understand the way that men and mer could just simply ignore dirt even if it was inches thick. Some called me prissy for bathing more than the average person, but I had never gotten used to the way dirt clung to my skin. That, and my fur would get matted if I left it to its own devices.

Eventually, I finished the job and when I landed on the ground, Ysolda held up a purse with about fifty septims. I tried to push them back into her grasp but she did not relent. “You don’t have to pay me, Ysolda.”

She shook her head, auburn hair fanning out around her jaw. “I want to. You’ve done so much for us, Ranahad.”

I frowned slightly. Most people in Whiterun didn’t know that I was the Dragonborn but Ysolda had figured it out the second time we met. It didn’t help that she had watched a mammoth do a double backflip when I’d Shouted at it.

“Okay, fine,” I said and put the purse on my belt. “But you don’t need to pay me next time.”

Ysolda winked and said goodbye, heading towards the Bannered Mare to no doubt cool off. I rolled my eyes and made my way to Breezehome where I dropped off the day’s earnings. I left soon after, leaving a note to Lydia saying I wouldn’t be back for supper.

I began the trek to the White River, as the various pools of water west of the city weren’t the best for bathing and no doubt filled with nasty things. I passed a few people on the way, some who openly stared and others who openly glared.

“Don’t play any games, sneak thief,” a Thalmor soldier growled as an envoy of passed, two Nord prisoners in tow. For a moment I wanted to free them but taking action would be seen as taking a side in the infernal civil war and I had bigger slaughterfish to fry.

 _Not my hold, not my hagravens_ , I thought and continued down the road.

The sun was precariously balanced on top of High Hrothgar when I got to the bridge that spanned the river. I followed it for a few miles, making sure I was nowhere near civilization. When I found the perfect spot, the river trapped between flat boulders, I sighed and began to take off my clothes.

There were cultural differences between those on the Lunar Lattice and I’d never understood why some of my kinsmen wore layers and layers of clothing. I understood that covering was necessary for traversing the desert but didn’t make sense in places like Skyrim. I shrugged; I wasn’t a good study on proper Khajiit culture as I’d left Elsweyr when I was a young kit.

I chuckled to myself as I wiggled out of my smallclothes and threw them onto the pile of clothes. Wading into the water, I practically purred in delight as the cool current brushed past my legs. I waded to the deepest part of the river and laid out, letting the movement of the water remove most of the dirt hidden underneath my thick tawny fur.

My mind wandered as I lay in the river, watching the few wisps of clouds pass through the cerulean sky. Whiterun hold usually had some of the best stargazing due to its relatively flat landscape and I couldn’t wait to see what colors the aurora would spit out on the canvas of the sky later tonight.

I dipped my head underneath the water and ran my fingers through my mane. When I surfaced, I let the dripping strands hang in front of my face for only a moment before I began braiding it. I felt the chill of the river suddenly and stood, shaking the water out of my fur. I yawned widely and moved over to lay one of the sun-warmed boulders.

It was simply divine and I couldn’t help the purr that rumbled through my entire body. There were a few creature comforts Skyrim could never take away from me and one of those was curling up under the bright sun.

I must have drifted off because the sun was setting when I became aware of two people approaching me. I took a deep breath and smelled a man and a woman. She smelled of lavender and brandy and leather. A shield clinked against her armor each time she moved. The man had a far sharper scent—cinnamon and cedar and the tang of blood on steel. But over all of that dark and inviting smell was the musk of a wolf.

My eyes snapped open as I recognized the scent; it was the one that seemed to pervade in every corner of Whiterun. The man was making a great deal of sound in his steel armor so it was easy to pinpoint where they were approaching from.

“Are you alright, uh, miss?” the man asked and I turned my head to look at the two newcomers. I stared at the war paint applied liberally around his silver eyes. Ah, yes, it was Farkas. And the dark-haired woman with the shield was most likely one of the newer Companions. I should have known their names better by now, I supposed, but I wasn’t too interested in Companions gossip. Unless it dealt with the two guilds I did lead, I didn’t listen.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Did you think something was wrong?”

The girl blinked. “Well, most people don’t go into the plains unarmed and, uh . . .” She bit her lip and I bit back a chuckle.

“A Khajiit is never unarmed.” I examined my claws as they glinted like ebony in the sun. The two Companions stood awkwardly and I noticed how Farkas was having quite the hard time not staring at my body. I crossed my legs and my tail swished in curiosity.

“I’m curious. Would the Companions let someone like me join?” I asked, staring at Farkas. He seemed like the Skyrim-is-for-Nords type.

“We don’t judge on race,” the girl said. “Only by the strength of your arm.”

I nodded, not entirely convinced. Brynjolf had assured me that I would be welcome in the Thieves Guild and yet I still did not escape the snide comments. And sound carried incredibly well in the Cistern.

Suddenly irritated at the Companions’ presence, I sat up from the rock and grabbed my pack. “Don’t you have a mead hall to go back to?” I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice but I couldn’t do it when my ears folded back and my tail lashed. Damn you anatomy for giving my thoughts away.

Farkas seemed to understand and grabbed the arm of his Shield-Sister. “In fact we do. Safe travels.” He paused at the end but his sentence didn’t end in a question.

“My name is Ranahad,” I said.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Ranahad.” The girl’s smile was genuine as she was hauled off by Farkas’s insistent grip on her arm. I watched as they continued to the road, metal glinting in the setting sun.

I stretched and began putting my clothes back on. Lydia would no doubt be wondering where I was even though I’d left a note. She really took being a housecarl seriously and it made me happy that someone was invested in my welfare because I sure as Oblivion wasn't.

* * *

 

“Y’know what today is?”

I blinked as the soul gem shattered and replenished the enchantment on my bow. I had lost track of the days recently, all of them blending together in a haze of sweat and work. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s the seventeenth of Last Seed. You remember what happened today?”

I frowned. “No, I can’t remember—” And then it hit me. Four years ago I began my journey. Four years ago I had avoided death and awaken the power inside me.

***

_It was raining when I approached the city’s gates, coming down in sheets and soaking through the shitty fur armor I’d pilfered off a dead bandit. The guards looked impassive in their helmets but I could tell from their body language that they were on edge._

_“Halt,” one of them said as I approached the main gate. “The city’s closed due to dragon attacks.”_

_“I have information about the dragon attack in Helgen,” I said, hoping it would convince the man. The sight of the big black dragon landing on the tower while I laid on a slippery chopping block was etched into my memory permanently._

_He sighed. “Fine. Head up to the Jarl’s palace. They’ll no doubt want to speak to you.” He moved to open the doors and I was soon stepping into the first hold capitol since my capture._

_Whiterun was quaint, the homes sturdy but not showing signs of disrepair. The only house that looked worse for wear was the one next to the blacksmith, large gaping holes ripped through the thatched roof. I took note of that as I continued through the streets._

_The long cobblestone walkway seemed deserted, citizens hiding safe in their homes both from the downpour as well as the fear for the dragon returning. I passed a few people and tried to ask them questions about Whiterun and its Jarl but they didn’t seem too keen on answering my questions._

_“Fucking Nords,” I spat._

_I passed a large plaza where a wizened and blackened tree stood, its grizzled branches stuck in an eternal winter. I stared at it for a moment before ascending the stairs towards a large palace. Under the smell of rain and peaty mud, there was an odd reek of wolf that was odd so deep into a walled city. I shook my head and continued bounding up the stairs to Dragonsreach._

_By the time I got to the large doors, I was panting. I understood the advantage of putting a palace on a hill but were all the stairs really that necessary? At least inside it would be warm and dry. I was more tolerant to water than some of my kinsmen on the Lunar Lattice but even I had a breaking point. The cold deluge bit me to the bone and my fur was plastered to my skin._

_Feeling the guards watch me, I opened the large doors of the palace. A blast of heat greeted me and I bit back the purr that reverberated from my throat. I had important information and purring like a kit high on her first taste of moon sugar was not the way to go about serious business._

_The hall was silent as I entered, the bards stopping their jaunty tune as I hesitantly walked up to the Jarl. It seemed to take forever to reach the long fire in the hall; why did this hall have to be so incredibly long?_

_I was lost in thought but the sensation of a blade pricking the skin of my neck. I met the sanguine eyes of a dark elf, thin lips pulled twisted into a snarl. “Who are you and why do you interrupt the court of Jarl Balgruuf?”_

_I gulped. “I have information. About the dragon attack in Helgen.”_

_The dark elf blinked. She opened her mouth to say something but a voice cut her off. “Irileth, it’s all right. Bring her forward, I wish to hear what she has to say.”_

_Irileth backed off and sheathed her sword but watched me suspiciously. I wanted to hiss but I was led in front of a throne that sat underneath a giant skull of what I guessed was a dragon. The man lounging in the throne was willowy but short, gray eyes watching me curiously as stood in front of him._

_“So,_ _you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?” Jarl Balgruuf asked, running a hand through his golden beard._

 _I nodded, a chuckle bubbling up unexpectedly. “Yeah. I had a_ great _view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head.”_

_A few murmurs passed through the small group of people gathered. Like usual, Nords didn’t grasp the finer points of sarcasm. Jarl Balgruuf waved them off and turned his gaze to me. “You're certainly, ah, forthright about your criminal past. But it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen.”_

_I shrugged. “It’s like what I told your, uh, bodyguard. The dragon destroyed Helgen and it’s headed this way.”_

_“By Ysmir, Irileth was right!” The Jarl and a few of his advisors bickered for a while as I stood dripping water onto the wooden floor. I was tired, sore, and half asleep on my feet. I almost started drifting off when Balgruuf turned to me. His smile was small but full of understanding and perhaps a bit of pity._

_“Well done. You’ve sought me out on your own initiative.” He stood from his throne and I was surprised that he was only a little bit shorter than I was. “I have something that you could do for me but I think you would like to dry off first.”_

***

The sound of Bubba shrieking brought me out of my memories. I looked up to see him bouncing from foot to foot, slapping his stomach. He was hungry and it was certainly close enough to midday to constitute a break.

“C’mon, let’s go to the Drunken Huntsman,” I announced. Bubba looked ecstatic as I put down my bow and stood from the worktable. Lydia looked up from where she was reading a letter the courier had dropped off earlier.

“Why the Huntsman?” she asked. Out of the two inns in Whiterun, Lydia preferred the Bannered Mare.

I shrugged. “Change of scenery. It’s right across the street. Plus, it’s Middas and Elrindir has a special on those Bosmer dumplings you know I like.”

Lydia bit her lip. “I dunno . . .”

I sighed. “If you don’t want to go, fine. No promises that I’ll save any for you.”

She narrowed her eyes, not exactly believing me. I always left something for her, be it food or the spoils of a burial mound. It was my way of sharing my spoils and she enjoyed this more than dropping off dead animals on the porch in the middle of the night.

I left then, crossing the cobblestones to the Huntsman. The smell of wood and ale greeted me and I felt the tension loosen in my shoulders. I sat down at one of the tables and Elrindir came over to me, a smile on his face.

“Ah, Ranahad!” the wood elf cried. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

I smiled and shrugged a shoulder. “As good as a Khajiit can be in a frozen hellhole like Skyrim.”

“I’ll get you some dumplings.” It wasn’t a question.

“Thank you, Elrindir.”

A few minutes later the wood elf brought out a plate piling with steaming dumplings. I ate them with my claws and didn’t care if the rich gravy dripped down my chin. I washed the dumplings down with chilled wine.

The door opened and closed and I glanced up, seeing Aela enter. No doubt she preferred here over the Bannered Mare—one of the major differences between the two taverns was that the Huntsman also doubled as a fletching shop. Behind her, I saw the tapping feet of Bubba.

“What’re you doing here?” I cooed and Bubba crawled into the seat next to mine. “Was Lydia that boring?”

Bubba grunted and I guessed that he was in agreement. I laughed and tossed him a dumpling. He opened his mouth to catch it but it hit him on the forehead and slid down his face into his mouth. I couldn’t help but laugh as the riekling blinked confusedly, broth dripping down his face.

“You really seem to care for that little guy, huh?” a voice asked. I looked up and saw Aela. She was staring curiously at Bubba who squeaked at her.

“Yeah. Found him in Solstheim and he wouldn’t leave my side. So he followed me back to Skyrim and now he’s my pet that can impale things.”

Aela nodded and sat down in seat across from me. “Ranahad.”

I looked up from my dumplings. I had about half left. “Yes?”

“I believe it was four years ago when you helped us take down that giant at Pelagia Farm.” Ah yes. After miraculously surviving Bleak Falls Barrow, I happened to stumble upon a group of warriors trying to fell a very pissed off giant. I had helped a bit by jumping on his back and clawing his massive eyes out. Afterwards, Aela had congratulated me on my gutsy move and extended an invitation to join the Companions. I’d said I’d think about it and I had thought about it very little since.

“Our offer still stands,” Aela said.

I bit my lip. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, we would love to have another Shield-Sister.” The longing for female company was painfully evident in her voice and I sympathized with her. There were very few female Khajiit in Skyrim and most were bound to the caravans.

“I promise you that I will visit Jorrvaskr soon.” And I meant it. Whiterun was nice and all but it was starting to become boring. I felt the burn to go exploring again, to spelunk through Nordic tombs and uncover convoluted plots and be the errand girl for practically every single person and their dog in the entirety of Tamriel.

Aela and I talked for a while about combat, speaking mostly about the finer points of archery and the new addition of the crossbow. I told her of how I’d found one once in a mine in Solstheim and tried it out for a while. “It’s pretty damn powerful,” I said, “but it takes an eternity to reload.”

She nodded, deep in thought. I smiled and looked down at my dumplings which were no doubt cold by now. The plate was completely empty.

Aela hid a chuckle behind her flagon of mead. “I didn’t eat them.”

My eyes snapped to Bubba and I slapped a hand to my forehead. His grizzled blue face was incredibly smug as broth dribbled from his chin.

“What am I going to do with you, beast?” I lamented as Bubba shrieked triumphantly.


	3. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Companions are certainly much different than the other factions Ranahad has encountered. But even the smoothest steel can hide the imperfections underneath.

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth as I lingered on the steps of Jorrvaskr. The wind whipped past me, the barest hint of rotting leaves heralding the first signs of autumn. I knew that I would be fine with the warriors inside but it was something else entirely that was eating at me.

I had been masked every time that I joined a different faction during my journeys. In the Brotherhood, I rarely took off the masked cowl even though it smelled like dust and dried blood even after I’d washed it dozens of times. I’d hidden my face underneath the leather hood of the Thieves Guild, my bright eyes eerie in the dark shadows. During my very few dealings with the College of Winterhold, I wore Volsung and its impassive copper face hid my expressions beautifully.

But I couldn’t do that here. The people of Whiterun knew me as Ranahad and I would look even more suspicious if I decided to hide my face. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I walked up the remaining steps and opened the door of the great mead hall.

What greeted me was a brawl. A lean Dunmer and a dark haired Nord woman were exchanging blows. The curses they spat were nasty but from the smiles on their faces and the cheers of the others assembled in the hall, it wasn’t malicious at all.

“This should be good,” a voice said to my right as I watched the two circle each other. I looked away from the action for a moment and saw Farkas beside me, clad in his usual steel armor and biting into an apple.

“Is this normal at Jorrvaskr?” I asked, smiling a bit.

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s all in good faith so there’s no harm done at the end of the day.”

I nodded. There had often been fistfights in the Ragged Flagon and sometimes also in the Cistern. At the end, the combatants would make up and share a flagon or two. I watched as the two warriors continued, noting the sloppiness of their hits.

“Are you here to join the Companions?” another voice asked. I turned around and saw the young woman that I’d seen when I was sunbathing on the banks of the White River. “I’m glad you took our offer. Hopefully I won’t be the youngest Companion anymore.”

I smiled. “Uh, yeah. Where should I go to talk to Kodlak?”

An older warrior was the one to answer. It was hard not to stare at his left eye which was a cloudy dove-gray. From the ragged scarring around that eye, I assumed he’d been blinded in battle. “Downstairs in the living quarters. His rooms are all the way at the end.”

“Thanks,” I said and walked away from the fight which seemed to be coming to a close. The large table spanned most of the hall and was laden with Skyrim’s staple foodstuffs and enough alcohol to poison a Alduin himself. It was a mead hall, after all.

The stairs to the living quarters were on the other side of the hall and when I descended them, I looked up and saw a plaque on the wall that seemed to be holding a few scraps of metal. I frowned at it and continued downstairs.

It wasn’t much, just a long hallway with various tapestries covering the stone walls. It was empty aside from an elderly woman sweeping the floors. The scent of wolf was the most concentrated here and it took the majority of my willpower to not gag.

I continued down the hall, to a set of double doors that were slightly ajar. My ears pricked as I heard a conversation from inside the room.

“But I still hear the call of the blood,” a man said. His familiar voice was deep and incredibly weary. The call of the blood? What exactly was I getting into?

A second, older voice replied. “We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome.” I was incredibly intrigued. What sort of burden did the Companions harbor behind the bravado and steel? And knowing how things usually panned out for me, it was going to become my problem as well.

“You have my brother and I, obviously,” the first one said. My ears pricked as I placed the voice—Vilkas, the taller of the two Companions twins. “But I don’t know if the rest will go along quite so easily.” I walked up to the door and peered in. It was a sort of sitting room and the two men sat at a table in the corner. Vilkas was sitting across from an old man with stark white hair and a swirling Nordic tattoo gray-green against his sunken cheek. Both were wearing a strange sort of armor, stylized with wolf heads and dark fur accents. The designs were very good but who in their right mind would want to sneak around in pounds of clanky steel?

“Leave that to me,” the older man said, looking out at the door. He saw me in the shadow of the door and beckoned me to enter fully into the room. I gulped and stepped into the room.

“I’d like to join the Companions,” I said, my voice somehow not betraying my inner anxiety.

“Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you . . .” The white-haired man narrowed his eyes at me. So this was Kodlak, then. I’d lived in Whiterun for four years and I’d never seen him once. “Hmm Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.”

Vilkas stared at me for a moment and then turned to his companion. “Master, you’re not truly considering accepting her?” My hackles rose as I heard the vitriol in his voice. I would leave Whiterun and never come back if I had to deal with another Nazeem. _Yes, I’ve been to the Cloud District, I’m the gods damn Thane._

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” Kodlak snapped. He looked up at me and gave a small understanding smile. “And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in hearts.”

Vilkas looked at me and the contempt faded from his silver eyes. “Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this outsider.” How hadn’t he heard of me? Practically all of Whiterun knew my name.

“Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart.”

“And their arm,” Vilkas added with a childish grudgingness, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like Farkas with the dark war paint smeared across his eyes but he lacked his twin’s bulk.

Kodlak nodded absentmindedly at Vilkas, as if he was listening to a child’s nonsensical ideas. “Of course.” He looked at me and I knew that I could trust this wise old man. “How are you in a battle, girl?”

I shrugged. It wouldn’t do good to show off too much. “I have much to learn.” It was true. While I did do well in battle, I never had any formal training with a master.

Kodlak seemed pleased at my answer. “That's the spirit. Vilkas here will get started on that.” He turned to Vilkas. “Take her out to the yard and see what she can do.”

The warrior in question sighed deeply and then looked at me. “Aye.” He didn’t seem that pleased as he stood up. He brushed past me and I looked at Kodlak who just shrugged. I sighed and followed Vilkas out of the room. He didn’t check to see if I was following.

“The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this.” Vilkas looked over his shoulder. “When we get out there, just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it.” He smiled cockily at me.

“And none of that magic stuff, new blood. We fight with steel and shield here.”

I let out a breath of relief. Thank goodness I had thought to forge myself a new pair of axes, trying out a new recipe for malachite that was a little less harmful to mold. I hadn’t enchanted them because I wasn’t exactly certain if they were up to standard. Sure, they were wickedly sharp and practically weightless but I didn’t want the thing to shatter along with the soul gem. The small nick in my left ear was testament to that stupid decision.

Lost in thought, I looked up as we went through the back doors and the glare of the sun blinded me. Vilkas led me past a covered patio to a training yard flanked by stones. He grabbed a shield from a rack on the rocks and unsheathed the sword at his hip.

“Now come at me,” Vilkas said as he brandished his shield. I smirked as I grabbed my axes. We circled each other for a while and then I realized that he was waiting for me to attack.

So I did.

I brought one axe down on his shield, my entire arm reverberating with the contact. The other axe batted away Vilkas’s sword and brought it off center. He growled and backed off so I advanced. He darted forward and thrusted his sword to my shoulder. I responded by hooking the left axe on the lip of his shield, leaving him open to attack. I brought my right axe across his armor, sparks flying as the sharpened malachite bounced against steel.

“There you go! Not bad,” Vilkas said suddenly as he sheathed his sword. “Next time won't be so easy! You might just make it. But until then, you're still just a whelp to us, new blood.”

“Just don’t call me kitten,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, now you’re asking for it,” he replied with a coy gleam with his eyes. There was a pause and then Vilkas unhooked his sword from his belt. “Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened. And be careful, it's probably worth more than you are.”

I rolled my eyes as I took the sword from him. I doubted that; I had an innumerable trove of wealth that was spread all across Skyrim as well as Solstheim. “All right.”

Eorlund worked the Skyforge, a massive forge underneath a cropping of rock that supposedly looked like an eagle. I frowned at it as I ascended the stairs; it looked like an eagle, I supposed, if you were incredibly drunk.

The supposed best blacksmith in Skyrim looked up from the forge as I approached, his brown eyes narrowing for a moment. His long gray hair was oddly similar to a certain ornery werewolf. “What brings you here?” Eorlund asked, not looking up from the anvil as he pounded away at what looked like the blade of a claymore if its length was anything to go by.

I shrugged and held out the sword. “Vilkas sent me with his sword.”

The smith looked up then and smirked. “Ah, I’m guessing you’re the newcomer, then?”

“Does Vilkas always send newcomers on errands?” I asked, not too keen on being yet another courier. People always complained that the Dragonborn got nothing done so why did everyone keep giving me more asinine tasks?

Eorlund waved a hand that was grasping a white-hot poker. “Oh, don't worry about that. They were all whelps once. They just might not like to talk about it. And don't always just do what you're told. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions.”

“Someone has to be in charge, though,” I said.

He shrugged. “Well, I'm not sure how they've managed it, but they have. No leaders since Ysgramor. Kodlak is the Harbinger, and he's a sort of advisor for the whole group, but every man is his own. Every woman, her own.”

That was certainly interesting. It was certainly different than all the other guilds in Skyrim. “Well, I’d best get going.” I began to turn away but his gloved hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“I have a favor to ask,” Eorlund said.

I turned around. “What is it?”

He grabbed a steel shield and held it out for me to take. “I've been working on a shield for Aela. My wife is in mourning and I . . . need to get back to her soon. I'd be much obliged if you could take this to Aela for me.”

I nodded, taking the shield for him. It felt incredibly light in my hands, the evidence of good craftsmanship evident. “I’m happy to lend a hand.”

Eorlund nodded, turning back to his claymore. “That’s a good dear.”

I walked down the steps from the Skyforge as a hundred and one thought bounced through my head. Arnbjorn, the Brotherhood’s ornery werewolf, had once been part of the Companions but had been kicked out because of his “methods.” Who was he before he joined the Brotherhood and why did he speak so horribly against them?

I continued down to Jorrvaskr. As the day wound down, more people seemed to be coming in to the mead hall. I recognized a few newcomers including Vignar and Torvar, both who I’d met at the Bannered Mare. I asked where Aela was and the dark elf Athis said she was speaking with Skjor downstairs with a suggestive wink. I groaned and continued to the living quarters.

Gladly, Skjor and Aela were just having a hushed conversation in her private quarters. The only thing I could pick up was the word “silver” which made little sense. It was clean and oddly spacious, pelts and arrows covering most of the surfaces. She was definitely a hunter. I knocked on the door and both warriors looked up.

“I have your shield,” I said, handing it to Aela.

She accepted it with a half-smile. “Ah, good. I’ve been waiting for this. And it’s good to see you finally took the offer, Ranahad.”

I chuckled and ran a hand across the back of my neck. “What can I say? I hear things about the Companions every day I venture into the market.”

Skjor looked me up and down, his half-blind gaze unamused. “So you’re the new whelp? I heard you gave Vilkas quite the thrashing.” His face split into a smile. “Don’t let him catch you boasting about that.”

Aela rolled her eyes and turned to me. She was eager and definitely excited to have another Shield-Sister. “Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?”

I shrugged. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to come to that. “I don’t care for boasting.”

“Ah, a woman of action,” she said. She looked up at the door, sensing something I couldn’t. “We’ll let Farkas show you where you’ll be resting your head.” She looked up and yelled the warrior’s name. He came a few moments later and his bulky frame took up most of the doorway.

“Did you call me?” he asked, blinking a bit.

“Yeah, icebrain,” Skjor said, a playful smirk on his face. “Show this new blood where the rest of the whelps sleep.”

Farkas nodded and motioned for me to follow. I followed the large warrior down the hall. I was surprised how bulky he was, even for a Nord. I had a feeling that you could break your hand if you punched him in the wrong spot.

“So you’re the new whelp, hm?” Farkas looked back with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “Don’t mind their name-calling. Skjor and Aela like to tease me but they’re good people. They challenge us to do our best.”

“Icebrain, huh?” I asked, wondering how many bones I would break if I got on his bad side.

“Ah, they say that I have the strength of Ysgramor and my brother has his smarts.” He shrugged as he turned down a short hallway into a room that had beds pushed against all four walls. Only four of them looked lived in.

He gestured to the beds. “Just pick a bed and fall in it when you're tired. Tilma will keep the place clean, always has.” So that must’ve been the old lady I’d seen sweeping. There was a pause and I moved to sit on one of the beds. Its linen sheets were incredibly scratchy and the mattress was lumpy but it was homey.

“The others are eager to meet you,” Farkas said, leaning against the doorframe. “Come to me or Aela if you’re in need of work. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do.”

I looked up at Farkas and there was a small smile on his shadowy face.

“Welcome to the Companions.”

* * *

 

“I’m glad for you, but have you told them?”

I looked up from Shadowmere, who butted my hand when I paused in feeding him apples. Daedric horse or not, he still enjoyed creature comforts like fresh apples and the occasional murder. “Told them what?”

“That you’re the Dragonborn?” Lydia supplied as she adjusted her Orcish helmet. I’d given her the new armor set as a gift shortly after returning from Solstheim, both as an apology for not stopping home for about two and a half years, and an example of how my crafting had improved. No more shit-tier iron for this cat.

I took a deep breath and nodded. Shadowmere ducked his head, rolling his crimson eyes as if to say _no shit, Ranahad_. I patted him on the cheek; at least he didn’t actually voice his incredibly human thoughts. If he did, I would be dealing with a bitingly sarcastic demon horse from the Void.

“I just want to be a warrior for once. Solstheim taught me that being the Dragonborn is a lot more than just Shouting and absorbing dragon souls.” Not liking where my thoughts were heading, I mounted Shadowmere, settling deep into his warm leather saddle.

Lydia followed my example and mounted her gelding Hawk. His red-brown flanks shimmered in the autumn sun as we exited Whiterun’s stables. Aela had given me the job of clearing out a cave of sabre cats that had ambushed some hunters to the west. It was a good excuse to get away for a while. I was also planning on clearing up an old bounty on a nearby bandit hideout in Redoran’s Retreat.

We rode on the road to the last known spot of the hunters. If I knew anything about sabre cats, it was most likely that they were long dead. The autumn sun shone weakly behind thick clouds and the wind carried the faint scent of snow from the north. Winter was not far off but at least I wouldn’t have to be holed up in the unforgiving northern holds.

There was a good stretch of silence and I could see her out of the corner of my eye bite her lip. “I was being seriously earlier. When are you going to tell the Companions you’re the Dragonborn?”

I sighed tiredly. “Hopefully never. I hate seeing their faces fall when they realized that the person destined to save Skyrim isn’t a Nord but a fucking _beast_.” I hated calling myself that. It was so dehumanizing and I had to grip to every part of my humanity to be taken even remotely seriously here in Skyrim.

 _Yes, relish in that hate,_ the voice whispered. _Let it fuel your Thu’um and you will be able to conquer armies with your voice alone. Bend Will is an incredibly powerful bargaining tool that you use too little of._

I rolled my eyes. _Yeah, it’s a great shout and all but I’m not the one wanting to slave everyone in Tamriel_. I wasn’t afraid of Alkosh’s gift but I would not use it to gain power for myself. All the time I’d risen to the top was not because I was Dragonborn, but because I was damn good with my axes and took no bullshit.

The voice seemed to huff in annoyance and then grew silent. It would be back eventually; it was too curious for its own damn good.

“I think we’re getting close,” Lydia said, looking down at the ground. There were a few corpses lining the road, half-devoured rabbits and goats strewn about in various states of decay. What unnerved me was that the kills were gruesome but it seemed like very little meat was taken off. While the foxes and wolves had picked off a great deal of meat, there hadn’t been much taken off originally.

“I think we’re dealing with a rabid cat,” I announced, sliding off of Shadowmere. He looked unfazed by the carnage around him but Hawk looked ready to bolt. I motioned for Lydia to get down and she did, pulling Hawk’s reins over his head.

“I’ll go tether the horses and we’ll go on foot together,” she said. She did the same for Shadowmere’s reins and he looked suspiciously at me. She wasn’t part of the Family and he was probably wondering if the Listener would allow him to trample her.

I shook my head at the black horse and he bowed his head. Somehow he allowed Lydia to take his reins and lead him with Hawk to a nearby tree. After they were secured, Lydia approached me, taking her trusty steel great sword out from its sheath.

“D’you think it’s going to be hard?” she asked, knuckles white as she gripped the leather-bound hilt. Sabre cats always seemed to unnerve her.

“No,” I replied as I unsheathed my axes from my belt. “It’s rabid so it’s gonna put up a hell of a fight. And make sure it doesn’t bite you because it can infect you.”

Lydia gulped nervously. “Oh, that’s just lovely. Is it okay if you lead?”

I nodded. I would’ve led anyways. We ascended a hill to the right of the road and as we reached the top, the stench of decay wafted upwards. On the other side of the hill was an outcropping where a group of hunters had set up camp. It had been their last excursion, if the amount of blood and gore splattering the cave wall was to be believed. I covered my mouth to stop the horrendous stench as I searched for the feral cat. It was lounging in the shadows of the overhang, its massive paws covered in viscera.

“Can you shoot it from here?” Lydia mouthed, knowing that the cat would awaken if we were to speak.

“I’ll try,” I replied and grabbed the malachite bow from my back as well as a few arrows. From my bag I pulled out a vial of poison and dipped the tips in it. I held out the vial and showed the label to Lydia. “Potent paralysis poison. Should be able to knock it out for half a minute at the most.”

Lydia worried her lip between her teeth. I corked the poison and nocked the arrow. Trying to tame my erratic heartbeat, I took a deep breath and aimed at the sleeping sabre cat. One, two, three. I let the arrow fly and it hit the sabre cat square in the shoulder.

Awakened by pain, it couldn’t do much as the poison took hold and I loosened another arrow, this one lodging in the beast neck. Blood spurted from the wound but it hadn’t hit any major arteries. The poison was starting to wear off and the cat got to its feet, dribbling foam onto the grass.

I swore and grabbed my axes. I glanced at Lydia and she nodded and we charged down the hill together. The sabre cat roared as we approached, stumbling from the poison. I sprinted towards it and raised my axes.

Lydia brought her great sword across the shoulders of the beast while I came in from the side and embedded the axes into its side, feeling the malachite blades cleave through skin and muscle and bone like butter. The cat roared in fury and I danced out of the way as it swiped at me. I hissed back at the beast and it turned towards me.

I dodged another incoming paw and brought a blade down towards its face. It turned at the last second and my blade razed across the side of its face. I couldn’t see where Lydia was but the beast turned its attention to me, foam dribbling down its massive jaws. And for a moment, I felt pure, unadulterated fear.

It was just about to pounce when a glint of metal flashed and the sabre cat found its mouth and gullet full of tempered steel. I looked up to see Lydia at the end of the blade, eyes ablaze with fury.

“No one hurts my Thane,” she growled as she twisted the sword, blood gurgling from its gaping maw. It twitched for a while and then it slumped to the ground. I let out a sigh of relief. Well, at least that was done.

I took the beast’s teeth as tribute, as I didn’t want to be lugging a bloody pelt the entire time we cleared out a bandit hideout. I braced my foot on the cat’s large shoulder and worked the massive fang out with my dagger, handing them off to Lydia as I retrieved them.

After taking those and the stash of septims the hunters would never use, Lydia and I continued over the hill, to where our horses were tied up. And we found them as they had been but a familiar blue form was dancing around their hooves, a sword at ready.

“How’d you get out here?” I wondered as I untied Shadowmere who looked thoroughly unamused at Bubba’s antics. I’d left the little riekling inside at Breezehome but apparently thief-proof locks could not stop a bloodthirsty riekling.

“I guess he can help us at Redoran’s Retreat,” Lydia said as she mounted Hawk, a slight veneer of contempt in her voice. Lydia wasn’t overt with her disdain about my little bloodthirsty warrior but I had to be blind to not see the way she recoiled from him.

“Perhaps we can just set him loose on those bandits, hm?” I chuckled at him from atop the Brotherhood’s renowned steed. He’d managed to put his own armor on, a modified Orcish set that was enchanted to Oblivion. Rieklings were a lot weaker than humans and if he planned on sticking around, I wanted him to be just as protected.

We reached the cave a little past sunset and the faintest hint of the aurora waved on the horizon. I dismounted and Shadowmere turned away from the cave entrance as if to wash his hooves of any connections with the riekling.

“Okay, Bubba, you know what to do,” I said pointing to the cave. He shrieked and charged the cave, brandishing the sword over his head. I shook my head and followed, not bothering to be silent. The sounds of carnage greeted us as we hit the first living area, the sounds of a battle-hungry riekling and bandits scared right out of the piss-stained furs. If I closed my eyes, it was like Solstheim only with less ash in the places where Secunda and Masser don’t shine.  

With Bubba at the helm, I took to healing myself as well as Lydia while dispatching the bandits Bubba had only injured with quick slashes to the throat. The shimmering glow of the healing got rid of the nasty claw marks down my chest and Lydia’s broken rib but both our armor was in tatters. I’d just have to do some major repairs when we got back to Whiterun.

We finally hit the main chamber of the cave and the bandit chief raised his massive war hammer that glittered with a shock enchantment. Bubba took no time as he jumped and wedged his sword between the plate between the gap at his hips.

“What the?” the Orc growled, looking down. He looked down at the riekling who roared in defiance. Torn between who to attack, the chief took a shaky step forward, the sword still stuck in his side. I took action and brought my right axe across his throat, hot blood spurting from the wound.

He slumped to the ground as he gasped for air. Bubba tried pulling his sword out of the massive Orc but he only got a few inches out. I shook my head and helped him by pulling the tempered steel out of his side. When it was finally free of the bandit’s body, he was thoroughly dead. I looked up at Lydia and she looked tired and perhaps a bit disgusted.

After rifling through the various chests, I pocketed a good deal of septims, shiny gemstones, and an enchanted ebony sword at the bottom of a dusty chest. The trek back to the entrance was mostly silent and I began to worry for a moment that Lydia was starting to question her friendship with me. It wouldn’t be the first time someone said that being the friend of a sadistic Khajiit Dragonborn was just too much to deal with

I steeled myself for the confrontation but it never happened.

Lydia went to the Bannered Mare shortly after we returned to Breezehome, not telling me when she’d get back. I said nothing but my tail lashed in anger. _Fine then. Go drink and forget that your Thane is incredibly fucked up._

I was in a very dark mood when I returned to Jorrvaskr. I sat down at the large table and grabbed the nearest bottle of wine and pulled the cork off, thoughts stewing into a dark miasma. I had barely polished off the bottle when I felt someone sit beside me. They had a sharp scent of pine and mint and wolf. The wolf scent was much more muted than Farkas, who smelled as if he bathed in wolf pelts.

“Oh great, another drunk,” the person beside me said. I snarled as I lifted the bottle to my lips, making sure my teeth flashed in the firelight. If there was anything that I could do to unnerve mer or man, it was show them how inhuman I was.

“I just got off a stressful job so cut me some slack, ‘kay?” I snapped. I liked my alcohol as much as any person but I usually went adventuring mostly sober. The only time I’d ever done something pissed drunk was that night with Sanguine and I had forgotten most of what had happened during that night of debauchery. Something about a goat and a giant. That was enough madness for even the most dedicated addict to lay off the drink for a while.

The person beside me grunted and I finally turned my eyes towards them. Sitting beside me, casually dressed in a yellow tunic and a leather doublet, was Vilkas. His silver eyes met mine and I saw him recoil for a moment.

“What?” I asked. “Can’t stand the sight of someone like me becoming a Companion?”

“You’re not a Companion yet,” Vilkas corrected. “But to answer your question, no I do not have a problem with you becoming one of us.”

“Well, every time you look at me, your eyes flash. And it’s a flash I recognize, a flash usually seen on racist Nords that want my arse out of Skyrim.”

Vilkas’s eyes narrowed. “Skyrim is for everyone.”

“Try telling that to the countless people who have begged guards and Jarls to throw out the untrustworthy Khajiit.” I hated dealing with stupid Nords that judged on the basis of race and I would put up with none of it in Jorrvaskr.

“I understand,” Vilkas said under his breath. I frowned at him and he shook his head. It seemed he wanted to say something more but cut himself off before he said too much.

The chair screeched as Vilkas stood, his stomping loud amongst the general chatter. I stared at the reflection of the fire in the warped glass of the bottle, unease stirring in my chest.

What secrets did the Companions harbor behind their sense of bravado?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ranahad finally joined the Companions! And after all the past betrayals in the Brotherhood and the Guild, she's definitely suspicious. 
> 
> I've always wondered why people don't run in fear from Shadowmere's glowing murder-filled eyes. Ah, willing suspension of disbelief, am I right? 
> 
> Leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed!


	4. The Auspicious Moons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranahad and her Shield-Sisters unwind. Moon sugar may or may not be involved. Oh, and it's time for some super-important Trial thingy.

The Companions soon became family and I was surprised how much time they took up in my life. Before joining, I’d been seeped in boredom and every day seemed to last an era. But now that I was on my way to becoming a Companion, I was running around doing jobs. It was a lot like all the jobs I’d done for the Thieves Guild, only this time I wasn’t committing crimes on a daily basis.

Well, it depends if you see killing escaped convicts and roughing up people for money as illegal.

The Companions were _above_ the law, apparently.

I was becoming accepted around Jorrvaskr and most people seemed to know my name. They liked to remind me, however, that I was still a whelp and that I couldn’t claim the title of Companion just yet.

I returned to Jorrvaskr one night after clearing out a lair of vampires and found the mead hall mostly empty. I was on alert as I walked downstairs to the living quarters. Ria and Njada were the only ones downstairs and they looked up when I approached.

“Where is everybody?” I asked as I threw my bag on my bed.

“Farkas and Vilkas are off dealing with an escaped convict. Torvar and Athis are down in Riften. Kodlak is talking the Jarl. And Skjor is . . . somewhere,” Ria replied, smiling at me.

“And Aela?” I flopped onto the bed, not caring that my pack dug into my stomach. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of tundra cotton and wolf, a scent that was becoming more and more homey each time I returned to Jorrvaskr.

“She’s here,” Njada replied succinctly as she polished her shield. “Why’s it matter to you, cat?”

I winced but the smirk didn’t fall. “So it’s just us girls then.”

“What are you thinking, Ranahad?” Ria asked. “You’re thinking about doing something, aren’t you?”

I sat up on the bed, testing my sore muscles and hissing when they screamed in protest. Those vamps had put up one hell of a fight. “Well, all the men are gone.”

“And?” Njada raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s to tell us to put our clothes on?”

Ria’s eyes widened while Njada shook her head. I looked between them. “C’mon, it’s a great idea!”

“I’m going to get Aela,” Njada said and got up. I watched her leave and then turned to Ria. She had a bit of blush on her cheeks and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

The tiny Imperial bit her lip. “It’s a good idea but I—”

“We’re all women, right? It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.” Despite the differences between the races, our bodies were oddly similar. Even Khajiit and Argonians had humanoid anatomy even if they were covered in fur or scales.

“So you have . . . ?” She gestured to her chest as well as below and I cracked a grin.

I was about to respond with something mildly suggestive when Njada returned with Aela in tow. The renowned huntress smiled as she leaned on the doorframe. “What is this I heard about running naked through Jorrvaskr?”

I shrugged. “I was just tossing around the idea of some female bonding because it’s just us and no one will ask us to cover up.”

Aela’s grin was beyond shit-eating. “Good thing I gave Tilma the night off.”

I clapped my hands together, tail swishing in excitement. “How about we start this night of debauchery with a nice bath, hm?”

Njada smirked and moved towards the communal bath. “I’ll get it warmed up,” She closed the door behind her but I caught the faintest glimpse of a bare shoulder. I stood and began shucking off my armor, wrinkling my nose as I smelled the caked blood and sweat that clumped together. I could see Ria out of the corner of my eye watching me and I winked at her as I pulled off the linen underclothes I wore underneath my armor.

I threw them down with my armor and was soon in my smallclothes. I quickly pulled them down my hips and chucked them underneath the bed. I looked up and Ria was unabashedly looking at me, high cheekbones flushed rose.

“You don’t wear a breastband?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t need it for support, do I?” I had a small chest even for a Suthay-raht and with armor, I was often mistaken for a man.

“What’s taking you bitches so long?” Njada’s voice came from the bath. I rolled my eyes and gestured to Ria to follow.

“Don’t be shy,” I said. “You’ll feel fine after a few flagons of mead in you.” I left then, dragging my tail lightly over her cheek as I passed. I walked the short way over to the communal bath, where Njada had heated the large pool in the middle of the room. Njada was unlacing her breastband as I entered while Aela sat in the pool, a flagon lifted to her lips. Divines strike me down if I let my gaze linger. She bore the scars that came with the life of a warrior and the freckles that scattered her cheeks extended farther, much farther.

“Where’s Ria?” Njada asked as she finished with the breastband and threw the linen strips in the corner.

“She’s coming,” I said and stepped into the pool. I let out a hiss as my feet hit the hot water but it turned into a purr as I adjusted. “She seemed shy.”

Aela shrugged. “She’s still new to the Companions.” She set down her flagon on the edge and turned her gaze to me. “I’d never guess that Khajiit could purr.”

I shrugged as I settled on the stone bench to her left. “What can I say, I’m part cat.” I hadn’t stopped purring and it made my voice shake as if I were stuck in an earthquake.

“What I’m more surprised about is that you have tits,” Njada said as she entered the steaming pool and sat opposite of me.

I laughed. “What did you expect? A line of teats going down my stomach?” I laced my hands behind my neck and smirked at Njada. She was lithe but muscular, arms toned from being able to block so gods-damn well. Her breasts were nice and round with dusky nipples.

 “I wonder how you survive without a thick coat of fur. I don’t think I could survive one winter.” Humans especially looked like hairless moles and it astounded me how they could survive in such nasty climates. No wonder they overcompensated with furs and pelts everywhere.

Ria came in then, and I was surprised that she still wore her smallclothes. I frowned a bit but said nothing as she entered and sat next to Njada, Under the scent of water and steam and soap, I caught a faint whiff of stale blood. I made nothing of it, as I had some blood still caked on me.

We sat in the warm pool and talked about anything and everything under the moons. The topics got raunchier as we imbibed the mead and wine that Aela had grabbed from upstairs. “So tell me, Aela,” Ria said, her empty flagon hanging from her fingers, “is there something between you and Skjor? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him as of late.”

Her cheeks erupted in a fierce blush and I hid my snicker behind my hand. It felt good, just to relax and unwind and gossip. “No, I swear, there’s nothing going on. Most of it’s Circle business anyways.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a girl seeking out pleasure for herself,” I said. “We have our needs and sometimes that means wanting to fuck and be fucked.”

Njada whistled. “Wow, Ranahad.”

I shrugged. “What? I’m being honest. I’ve taken a few lovers over the years and they often knew that I was just in it for the sex.”

“But you’ve never been courted?” Ria asked. She was the loopy sort of drunk and I laughed at her antics as she tried to hug Aela.

“No, I haven’t. I think most Nord men wouldn’t want a beast to warm their bed until they go to Sovngarde. I’m an exotic fuck and interesting for a little while until a pretty Nord girl with wind-chapped skin steals his heart.”

Noticing my vitriol, Aela steered the conversation in a different direction. “Is it true, that male Khajiit have barbs on their pricks?”

The suddenness of the question made the wine in my throat take a detour to my trachea. When the coughing fit subsided, I turned and smiled at her. “It is. They’re quite small but actually feel very good.”

Njada whistled while Ria gave up her quest to hug Aela and submerged herself in the water so that each breath made ripples across the water. I kept sipping my wine as we settled into a comfortable silence. The water was starting to cool but no one seemed to mind.

Eventually, Ria sat up and rubbed her back, obviously in pain. “Damn cramps,” she muttered. The others nodded as if they knew what she meant but I felt only confusion.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “You didn’t pull anything, did you?”

The young Imperial shook her head. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just, uh—”

I still didn’t understand her shyness. “What?”

“What Ria is trying to say is that women, well, bleed every month.” Aela looked quite amused at my confusion.

“Bleed? Doesn’t that hurt?”

Njada shook her head in disbelief. “Ranahad, I don’t think you understand. What they’re trying to say is that human women bleed from _down there_ once a month.”

My mouth opened in shock. It sounded disgusting and for once, I was glad I was born a Khajiit. I only had to deal with a heat two times a year and those were easily remedied with sex. And lots of it. “That’s . . . different.”

“And painful,” Ria added.

For the next half-hour I was given an understanding of the human female body and how each month, a woman’s body would prepare for a baby and when it wasn’t given, the body expelled what wasn’t needed. By the time this impromptu biology lesson ended, I felt a bit sick. “Thank goodness Ranahad doesn’t have to go through that.”

“Ha, you sound like a Khajiit!” Aela laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

“This one has always been a Khajiit,” I replied. Apparently I was more drunk that I’d thought because it was only after a massive amount of alcohol that I reverted back to my Khajiiti heritage.

“I’ve always wondered how moon sugar tastes,” Njada said. “It looks yummy.”

I grinned. “Ranahad can show you.” I stood up and shook out my fur. “But we shouldn’t do it here. Don’t want any of you to drown in a few inches of water.”

“Can that really happen?” Njada asked as the four of us dried off. I went to the living quarters and rummaged through my pack. I sifted through clothing and random baubles before finally finding a small pot. I grabbed it and went upstairs into the mead hall. Everyone was there and I noticed how most were clothed but very scantily as if they had been with a lover.

I searched the table and my eyes alighted on an apple pie. I uncorked the vial and spread a pinch over the flaky crust. It was less that I would have done for myself but this was their first time. Overdosing on moon sugar was not a nice thing, all hallucinations and paranoia and crippling fatigue.

“Usually treats in Elsweyr are made with moon sugar but hopefully it’ll have the same affect.”

“And is it like being drunk?” Njada asked as she propped her feet up on the table.

I bit my lip as I cut up the pie with my claws, trying to find the correct words. “It’s similar but you’re more likely to just sit by the fire and blabber about nothing.”

“Sounds lovely,” Njada said as she accepted her piece.

“How long do the affects last?” Aela asked as she bit into her piece.

“Not long,” I replied as I put a bit more on my slice. “You should be fine by the morning. But I would take it easy.”

It took barely half an hour before my Shield-Sisters were blissed out on moon sugar. I’d seen a great deal of Khajiit whacked out on the stuff but Nords were hilarious as they laughed and blabbered about apparently nothing. I laid out beside the fire, the dwindling flames warming my fur.

“And then—and then he sang the same song!” Ria laughed as if it were the funniest thing into the world. Aela and Njada joined in, the former rolling around on the stones. I rolled my eyes and continued staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t as high as them and it was a joyous experience to watch the once proud warriors stumble around and giggle at inane things.

“I don’t understand,” I drawled when silence enveloped the hall, “why Whiterun smells so strongly of wolf.”

“Wha?” Ria looked up from her spot underneath the table, a plate balanced on her head.

“See! No one else understands! Every time I enter this fucking city, it reeks of wolf, especially here in Jorrvaskr. Like, why the fuck is the smell so prevalent this deep into the city?”

Njada sniffed the air almost comically. “Dunno what you’re talking about. Jorrvaskr smells fine to me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aela’s jaw tighten. Something I’d said had hit home for her but in my addled state, I couldn’t guess what.

Eventually the girls got sleepy and one by one, they retired for the night. I was the last to return to bed and when I got down to the living quarters, Njada and Ria were fast asleep. I smiled at their prone forms and slipped under the scratchy sheets.

Perhaps Jorrvaskr wasn’t so bad after all, despite the smell. 

* * *

 

If doing pointless quests was a prerequisite for being a Companion, I was going to become one in a few years. Ria consoled me and said that it took her almost two years to become a Companion. But I really didn’t want to wait that long. All that time could pass and something could happen and I would be found out as the Dragonborn.

How I’d managed to keep that part of me unknown was honestly quite astounding.

“Skjor was looking for you earlier,” Farkas said one morning as I returned to Jorrvaskr after spending the night at Breezehome. I’d been spending a lot more nights in the living quarters but I did own the house. That, and Lydia liked to know where I was.

“Really?” I asked. In the few dealings we’d had, Skjor had acted incredibly prickly. “What does he want?”

Farkas shrugged. “Dunno. He just said he needed to talk to you before you do anything else. I don't like making him angry, but there is some work for you if you want it.” I couldn’t help but agree with him on that. Skjor looked like he had a massive temper and I would hate to get on his bad side.

“He should be in the training yard,” Farkas said.

Skjor was indeed there and was in the middle of sparring with Ria. I admired his form for a moment as he held up his shield to block Ria’s attack. She brought her sword down and the veteran warrior easily blocked it with his shield. Her arm coiled back for another attempt but Skjor stopped and lowered his shield.

“Good attempt but your attack leaves you open,” he said.

Ria looked down, dejected, and I got the feeling that she’d been practicing the move for a while. “Okay. I’ll try again.”

I cleared my throat and both looked up. Skjor set down his shield on the dusty ground and approached me. “Ah, there you are.”

“You wanted to see me?” My tail lashed in curiosity. On my first day, Farkas had said that Skjor usually gave out larger jobs and contracts. What was he going to give me? I was still a whelp who, according to the guards, only existed to fetch the mead.

Skjor nodded, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “I did. It seems your time has come.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?” It was a little past midday but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Usually the auspicious events happened in the nighttime.

Skjor walked to the covered patio and sat down heavily at one of the tables. “Last week, a scholar came to us and said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad.” He drank deeply from a horn of water on the table. What surprised me about Jorrvaskr was that food and drink was so plenty. People were starving in other cities and food was thrown away when it was barely cold. Ungrateful Nords.

“He seemed like a fool to me,” Skjor continued, “but if he’s right, the honor of the Companions demands we seek it out.”

I knew a little bit about Wuuthrad, the famous battleaxe that Ysgramor used to reclaim Tamriel for the humans. The Companions had a few pieces but the axe was nowhere near completion. “What does that have to do with me?”

He gave me an incredulous look. “This is a simple errand, but the time is right for it to be your Trial. Carry yourself with honor, and you'll become a true Companion.”

Oh. So it was time for me to become one of the big dogs. I didn’t say anything so Skjor continued. “Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp. He’ll answer any questions you have. Try not to disappoint . . . or get him killed.”

And without warning, he got up and returned to the training field to spar with Ria and correct her sloppy footwork. I sighed and went back in to Jorrvaskr. Farkas was nowhere to be seen. When I asked Tilma, she said he was in his room.

Farkas had his own room because he was part of the Circle, the ruling group of the Companions. It seemed like the smell of wolf seemed the most potent here and I had to breathe shallowly to stop the gagging. I knocked on the only closed door, praying that it was Farkas’s.

There was the sound of shuffling and Farkas opened the door. I got a good glimpse of the room—it was tidy for the most part but his sheets were rucked up and he had some dishes on the bar in the corner—but I also got a very nice glimpse of his naked chest.

I gulped audibly, trying not to openly stare. He had a nice body, thick and coiled with a dark dusting of hair that thinned to a nice trail that led under his breeches. “So, it seems like you’re going to be my Shield-Brother.”

Farkas blinked, seemingly caught off guard. “Uh, I hope you’re ready.”

“Well, I have to pick up some things from Breezehome,” I admitted after a pause. I hadn’t been expecting to go on any adventuring and had planned on dropping by the market.

“All right. I’ll meet you at the Whiterun stables.” Farkas smiled for a moment and then closed the door. I stood there for a moment, the sight of Farkas’s body seared in my mind. I shook my head and began to head back to Breezehome to grab my weapons and armor.

If there was something I didn’t need, it was a relationship with a dark hunky Nord.

When I got to Breezehome, Lydia was cooking over the fire. She looked up and smiled. “Ah, Ranahad. Did you go to the market?”

I shook my head, already up halfway up the loft stairs. “No time. I’m off to do my Trial.”

“Trial?”

I opened the door to my room and grabbed my pack from where hung on the desk. “Companion stuff. Probably won’t be back for a few days.”

“Oh . . .” The disappointment in Lydia’s voice was palpable and I winced as I stuffed a bunch of health potions into one of the compartments.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” I said once I was finished packing and had put my armor on. “I promise you I’ll be back. Farkas is going with me.” I walked down the stairs and saw her glowering into the pot.

“That’s good,” she murmured as she glowered at the stew.

“Be safe, don’t burn down the house, and don’t let Bubba piss all over the garden, okay?” I grabbed my bedroll and hoisted it over my shoulder. Lydia still didn’t look at me. “I will be back. You have my promise.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay.” She didn’t sound so sure. I sighed, knowing it was a losing battle. I grabbed Dawnbreaker from its stand and placed it in the baldric around my shoulders. I had a fondness for that Daedric artifact, mostly because it went _boom!_ when I killed draugr. And I always liked booms.

“Bye, Lydia,” I said as I opened the door. “I’ll be back in a week, hopefully.” She didn’t respond so I closed it behind me.

At the stables, I found Farkas with a dapple gray stallion. I nodded to him as I walked to Shadowmere’s stall and began to tack him up. As the Listener, I was the only one that was allowed to tack him up but he was ill-inclined to the bit.

“So that one is yours, huh?” Farkas said as he stroked his steed’s flank.

“Yeah.” I looped my arm under Shadowmere’s neck and tried to get him to open his mouth to get the bit in. He refused to open his mouth and I growled in frustration. “I have shit to do and no time to deal with your bullshit.”

The red-eyed horse snorted and I felt his mouth go limp and I finally managed to put the bit in and finish up tying the rest of the bridle. I vaulted into the saddle and looked at Farkas. He was staring. “Well, are we going?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied and got on his own horse. We rode side by side, silently acknowledging that neither of our horses would be keen on following. I was wondering where we were going and Farkas said we were going to Dustman’s Cairn.

“We should be there by sunset,” I remarked. I’d been past it years ago when I’d been aiming for Morthal. It was your run-of-the-mill Nordic burial that was situated mostly underground.

We took the west road and I couldn’t help but stare at the remains of the western watchtower, the dragon’s bleached bones glinting in the afternoon sun. It was here four years ago that I helped the guards of Whiterun defeat a newly-resurrected dragon and I had devoured my first soul.

 _The first is always the most memorable,_ the voice whispered _. I was just an acolyte when I had my first. All the power was simply . . . intoxicating._

 _Are we talking about sex or dragon souls?_ I replied, feeling the presence cackle with glee.  I was learning to tolerate the unwelcome presence but it still didn’t bode well. I needed to talk to Arngeir and go on from there.

“You lost in thought?” Farkas asked suddenly and I looked up from Shadowmere’s mane to look at Farkas.

“I guess you could say that,” I said. “So you’re going to be my shield-brother?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

There was a lapse in silence and a few questions bubbled to my mind. “Who was the scholar?”

“A smart man came and told us about a blade piece. Skjor thinks you should find it, and I'm supposed to watch you.” Something seemed off about the anonymous scholar. If he was from the College of Winterhold, then perhaps it would make me less uneasy.

“And Wuuthrad? What is that?”

Farkas chuckled. The sun bounced off his inky black hair, the newly-applied war paint dark and viscous underneath his silver eyes. “You’re going to be a Companion and you don’t know? Ysgramor was the hero who stared the Companions. Wuuthrad was his weapon. He came from the ancient homeland and killed all the elves. But not all of 'em, because some of 'em are still here.”

I nodded. The story of how the ancient warriors from Atmora came and reclaimed Tamriel for men always sat badly with me. It sounded a lot like Ulfric’s doctrines on anyone who wasn’t a Nord. I shook my head and changed the subject. “Why did Skjor call this my Trial?” The _and why are you here?_ was implicit.

“I watch to make sure you’re honorable. If you are honorable and strong, then I can call you Shield-Sister.”

It didn’t seem that bad. But I wasn’t the most honorable person out there. I was the leader in two different guilds that were the exact opposite of the Companions. Somehow I’d managed to not arouse anybody’s suspicions about my identity but knowing my track record, it would blow up eventually.

The sun sunk towards the horizon as we continued riding. Farkas was a man of few words so the silence that stretched between us wasn’t strained. It gave me time to plan on what I’d say when we reached the end of the tomb. I could almost hear that rhythmic chanting now, deep underground but vibrating through my marrow.

“We’re close,” I announced. Farkas looked confused but his frown disappeared when we rounded a hill and the familiar stones rose out of the prairie grass. I dismounted Shadowmere and he waited next to the road as I approached on foot, hands poised over my axes. The ground around the burial tomb was rough and I saw the imprint of a boot in a dried patch of mud.

“Looks like someone’s been digging here,” Farkas said as he stood beside me. He kicked at the piles of dirt. “And recently.”

I sniffed the air. Someone had indeed been here recently but they lacked that piss-soaked leather scent of bandits or the ozone of mages. Something was up and I had a bad feeling that everything would fall to shit inside.

As it usually did.

“Tread lightly,” Farkas said, unsheathing his greatsword. “Be careful around the burial stones. I don’t want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.”

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt those will be trapped. Now c’mon, let’s go kill some draugr.”

Dustman’s Cairn was dark and musty, like any Nordic tomb but there were signs that people had been here recently. I reached for Dawnbreaker and it shimmered to life as I pulled it out of its sheath, excited to slice open the undead.

There weren’t much in the chamber but there were a few dormant draugr. I approached one in an alcove on silent feet and readied Dawnbreaker. I took a deep breath and plunged the sword through its abdomen, feeling rubbery organs slip past the blade.

The draugr’s eyes opened and its lips pulled back in a snarl but they dimmed once I brought the axe in my other hand across its neck, beheading it. The draugr on the opposite wall awoke and took a few steps out of its alcove. It raised its rusted axe over its head but I managed to vault over the altar and gave it the same beheading treatment, the papery head bouncing as it landed.

I glanced behind me and saw Farkas watching me, greatsword at the ready but not coated in congealed blood. So he was here to watch and only get involved if the consequences were dire. I sighed and continued on through the tomb. _Some companion you are._

He frowned at the unearthly glow of Dawnbreaker’s blade. “What’s that?”

I flipped it in my hand. Meridia had been an annoying daedra but her reward had to be my favorite. “It’s called Dawnbreaker. It does extra damage to the undead.” I cocked my head at him. “Will you dock points for me using an enchanted blade?”

Farkas shook his head. “Nah. Not my place to judge what weapons a warrior uses.”

We continued through the tomb, dispatching draugr when they tried to rise. Things were definitely off. It wasn’t obvious to the trained eye but I had been in countless Nordic burial tombs that weird things stood out. The ground was free of debris and occasionally, there was an imprint of boots here and there. Some of the alcoves were bare and the urns were looted dry.

“I don’t think we’re alone,” I said to no one in particular.

We went through a hallway and entered a large chamber. The door on the far wall was gated and I looked around for the puzzle. There was a lever on the right wall in a large alcove and I walked towards it. It seemed incredibly simple for a Nordic tomb and I glanced around for the tell-tale carvings of birds and whales but the walls were unadorned.

I walked over to the lever and pushed it. I realized that it didn’t groan too late and watched in growing horror that a gate rattled down from the ceiling, trapping me in the alcove.

Farkas sighed loudly and shook his head. He hadn’t been caught in the trap. “Well, now look what you've gotten yourself into. No worries. Just sit tight. I'll find the release.”

Just then, I smelled the scent of flesh. Not dead flesh. Actual living flesh and the tang of silver weapons. I looked up to see that the gate barring the rest of the tomb had opened and people were coming in, brandishing silver weapons. And silver weapons meant hunters of the undead.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned on writing that girls'-night-in but once I starting writing it, I couldn't stop. Ranahad still thinks humans are weird, despite living in Skryim for years. 
> 
> I took a few liberties on Dustman's Cairn, mostly because I forgot the layout and the maps I found online weren't much help. So the way I describe it may not be an exact copy of the one in-game. Oops.
> 
> You know the drill. Leave kudos or comments if you enjoyed!


	5. Secrets Under the Aurora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed and trust is broken by the less-than-trustful. It's hard being a Khajiit in a frozen hellhole like Skyrim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: this chapter deals with unwanted sexual advances so if you're not too keen on that, I'd recommend skipping the middle part of the second paragraph.

The bandits—four Nords, two Orcs and a Bosmer—surrounded Farkas and he gripped his greatsword, ready to attack. “It’s time to die, dog,” one of the bandits snapped. I frowned as I gripped the iron bars that prevented me from helping my Shield-Brother. This rag-tag group weren’t just some bandit clan that had taken residence in Dustman’s Cairn; they had strategically planned this attack on the Companions because they knew the warriors were honor-bound to find Wuuthrad.

“We knew you’d be coming here,” another growled.

“Your mistake, Companion.” The group laughed then, fierce and unforgiving. Farkas gripped his sword tighter and an inhuman growl ripped from deep in his chest.

“Which one is that?” a bandit asked the elf beside him.

The elf shook his head. He seemed to be the leader. “It doesn’t matter. He wears the armor, he dies.”

A Nord woman leered at Farkas, bearing her rotting teeth in a semblance of a grin. “Killing you will make an excellent story.”

If he were another warrior, Farkas would’ve replied with some sort of quip like _not today_ or _in your dreams_. But this was Farkas and he took action. I watched as he dropped his greatsword and opened his arms. I was about to scream at him to pick the damn thing up and kill them already but the thought stilled when I heard the unmistakable sound of remolding bone and a familiar snarling that would mean eminent death on the roads of Skyrim.

Oh lovely. He was a werewolf. _So that’s why Whiterun smells so much like wet wolf._

I watched as the transformation took ahold of him, limbs reforming and coarse hair springing up on every part of his body. As his body grew into the new form, his armor strained at the sides before eventually fell to the ground with a loud bang. The back of his breastplate bounced against the gate and I saw how it slotted with the front. _So that’s why the armor was so strange,_ I realized distantly. _It’s mean to stay intact if the person changes_.

The bandits, realizing that the werewolf was out for blood, foolishly brandished their silver weapons. They were foolhardy, sloppy like most bandits so it was incredibly easy for Farkas to take them out one by one. Heads cracked on walls and chests were ripped by claws. I watched the carnage unfold, unable to do anything but I was taken away at the sheer ferocity that the dark brown werewolf possessed.

Once the bandits were taken care of and properly mutilated, Farkas changed back into his human form. I stared at him for a moment, realizing belatedly that he was completely naked. I bit back a giggle as he blushed violently and grabbed his armor from where it had fallen.

Once he had put his armor back on, he glanced sheepishly at me. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

I blinked, still somewhat reeling from the carnage. “So you’re a werewolf then?”

Farkas nodded, not looking at me as he searched for a way to release the iron bars that still held me. “It's a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome.”

“Ah, yes, Hircine’s boon.” I’d run in to my fair share of werewolves, including that poor guy Sinding that had royally pissed off the Lord of the Hunt and was made into a stylish cuirass that now resided in my closet at Breezehome.

“What do you know about werewolves?” he asked as he ran his hand against the wall.

I shrugged. “Not much. They’re seen as sons and daughters of Hircine and go to his Hunting Grounds when they die.”

Farkas grimaced at that and I had a feeling he wished to go to Sovngarde like every little Nord boy and girl. “I can’t find the release mechanism. Try the lever and see if that works.”

“Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” I mumbled to myself and pulled the lever into the position I’d found it in. With the clanking of rusty gears, the gate retreated into the ceiling and I was free to continue exploring the Nordic tomb.

“Shall we continue?” I asked.

Farkas frowned. “D’you really think there’s a fragment of Wuuthrad here?”

I shrugged, checking the mangled corpses for gold or anything of value. Almost all of them had cure disease potions or ingredients that could be used in said potions. “Maybe. And besides, the best loot is usually in the final chamber.”

Farkas said nothing so I pocketed the septims and continued on deeper into Dustman’s Cairn. What I was beginning to realize that it was incredibly tiny compared to others and hopefully that meant less draugr. The rooms past this seemed less tampered with so I assumed that we would be dealing with more dormant draugr.

What I hadn’t been expecting was the skeevers and the frostbite spiders. The skeevers were quickly dealt with and it was a game of dodging at the right time with the frostbite spiders. As I wiped the green blood from my axe, I saw Farkas’s sigh of relief.

“You scared of spiders?” I asked, trying to relieve some of the tension. Draugr-filled tombs were often incredibly unnerving due to the absolute silence.

Farkas nodded. “Yeah. Too many legs.” He shivered and pushed on the door. It didn’t give and I knew it was locked.

“I can get us out of here,” I announced as I crouched and pulled out a few lockpicks, testing the door’s rusty lock. It took a few tries and two broken lockpicks but eventually I managed to open the door. I could feel Farkas’s gaze on me and I turned around to meet his eyes.

“Where’d you learn that?”

I shrugged. “Places. And I’m a Khajiit, don’t forget. Lockpicking is like writing—second nature.” I didn’t want to admit that I had been taught by the best in the Thieves Guild. If my hunch was right, and the sound of chanting got even louder, he’d figure out what I was.

Farkas didn’t look amused at my glib comment but he took the lead. The door opened to a catwalk and we traversed it uneasily. I glanced down and saw a large room full of unopened coffins. The chanting that had been a constant presence came to an ear-splitting crescendo and for a moment, I was all too eager to simply jump down into the main chamber and take the knowledge all for myself.

_And me!_ the voice reminded. I said nothing, my lashing tail the only sign of the irritation that boiled deep inside. Farkas was still silent and it made the chanting that much more jarring. I reined in the thoughts, reminding myself that this was Companions business.

The catwalk led to stairs going down and opened to the large burial chamber. The amount of coffins was alarming for a tomb this small but I readied my weapons as the first coffin of many burst open.

The draugr seemed to be coming in near-endless waves and I laughed gleefully as I ripped through their rubbery abdomens and papery necks. I hadn’t been able to experience this much bloodshed for a while and for a moment, both I and the foreign soul reveled in this sheer amount of carnage.

Blue fire exploded from a draugr deathlord after I’d eviscerated it, spreading out like a shockwave and the remaining draugr either disintegrated or began to run. They had very few options and most found themselves impaled either by Farkas’s sword or my axe.

Eventually the coffins were finally all opened and their occupants dealt with. Wiping the sweat and gore from my forehead, I walked over the corpse of the deathlord and approached an altar with a raised platform in the middle. On it was a hunk of stone that reverberated with some sort of ancient magic I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“The fragment,” Farkas whispered in awe. “So it was here.”

I said nothing, my focus not on the fragment but on the wall that pulsed with magic that only I could comprehend. Faintly, I could hear Farkas asking what I was doing but I could not hear him over the chanting that had been rising in my mind.

I didn’t know what the wall was saying, but one seemed to stand out among the others. I closed my eyes and let the essence of the Dovahzul word bleed into my essence.

_Fire_. The fickle element, a figure that was both creator and destroyer. It could raze down destruction upon everything yet cheerily warm your bones at night. It was a force of absolute chaotic destruction; faintly, I could smell the tang of burned flesh and the heat of the inferno that would have singed all of my fur off.

“Ranahad? What’s going on?”

Farkas’s voice brought me out of my thoughts and the chanting faded as I absorbed the Word. I opened my eyes and saw him staring at me, mouth open in shock and awe.

“So you’re the . . .”

“The Dragonborn?” I laughed hollowly, the sound loud in the cave. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I didn’t know,” he murmured and I wanted to groan at the reverent sound in his voice. I could use the Thu’um but I was no hero. I was far from it.

“I just wanted to be seen as a normal person for a while.” I slid to the ground in the curve of the wall. Absorbing dragon souls brought a giddy sort of high while learning words made we want to sleep for a few days. It was very common for me to pass out in the end of a dungeon.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here,” Farkas said, holding out a hand. I grasped his wrist and he barely winced as my claws dug into his forearm. I grabbed the fragment of Wuuthrad, wrapped it with a random scrap of linen, and delicately placed it in my bag.

There was a hidden door that revealed a chest full of dusty coins and a Daedric bow. I purred as I ran my hands over the slightly glowing metal. It needed to be re-strung but with a bit of work, it could be a beast on the battlefield.

I couldn’t stop purring as we exited Dustman’s Cairn. The sun had set and the aurora whipped across the sky. Farkas and I walked back to our horses and decided to make camp and head for Whiterun in the morning. We made camp and built a small fire, working in an awkward silence.

It continued as we pitched our tents, lots of unspoken words waiting to be said. I had no idea what he would say. I kept glancing at the Nord out of the corner of my eye.

“So you’re the Dragonborn,” Farkas finally said as we dined on cheese and dried meat.

“And you’re a werewolf,” I replied, flicking my ears in amusement.

“I should have guessed it earlier. I knew the Dragonborn was Khajiit but . . .” He slapped his forehead. “No wonder everyone calls me stupid.”

I didn’t respond for a while, chewing the incredibly dry meat. People in Skyrim seemed to overcook everything, especially meat. I would gladly eat a fresh rabbit rather than this petrified shit they dared to call meat. “So are all the Companions werewolves?”

Farkas shook his head. “Not everyone, but all the Circle are. It's a secret to everybody.”

“Ah. And who were those people that ambushed us? They didn’t seem like regular bandits.”

“The Silver Hand.” He took a deep drink from his waterskin. “Bad people who don’t like werewolves. So they don’t like us either.”

They reminded me of a bastardized version of the Vigilants of Stendarr, minus the religious undertones. Everyone seemed to be carrying potions that cured diseases so I guessed that they believed lycanthropy was a contractible disease like vampirism. “So, would you make me into a werewolf?”

Fakas spluttered for a moment, caught off guard by my question. “Oh no. Only the Circle are allowed the beast blood.” That was understandable. Too many werewolves in one city would no doubt bring chaos and destruction.

He took the first watch so I crawled into my tent and pulled the furs around me. It wasn’t long before I fell into a deep sleep, fire burning a path through my dreams.

* * *

 

 

 

Everyone was gathered under the overhang of the Skyforge, soaking in the last few rays of sunlight. Winter was fast approaching and in a few weeks, the sky would be a constant dark gray and the snow would come in sheets.

People were merry and the mead was flowing. I felt a giddy excitement bubble in my stomach but it was also tinged with unease. I’d tried to ask Farkas if I’d passed my Trial or not but he never answered my questions.

There was a loud whistle and everyone turned to Kodlak who stood under the overhang with the Circle around him. They were all imposing figures in their strange wolfish armor and I knew that it was the day of reckoning.

“Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. Ranahad, please step forward.” I gulped but followed the Harbinger’s orders and stood in front of the two warriors, the rest of the Companions at my back.

“This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?”

“I stand witness for the soul before us,” Farkas announced and his voice boomed across the courtyard.

“Would you raise your shield in her defense?” the Harbinger asked as he turned to Farkas.

“I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us.”

“And would you raise your sword in her honor?” His eyes turned to me, bright and piercing.

Farkas nodded. “It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes.” It was poetic for the often gruff warrior and I was incredibly moved by it.

“And would you raise a mug in her name?”

“I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories.” Stories indeed. No doubt they’d ask me to relay some of my greatest moments. How would they react as I told stories of the return of the Thieves Guild or the fall and eventual rise of the Dark Brotherhood? I took a deep breath. Everyone here was better than I could ever be.

Kodlak turned his gaze to the crowd assembled and smiled proudly. I’d seen that smile before, in a much younger and shadowed face. “Then the judgment of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call!”

“It shall be so!” the Circle cried in unison. Even though there was no magic binding those words, I knew that this was a grand occasion. Kodlak and Farkas moved to join the others and people began to congratulate me.

“I knew you could do it!” Ria said as she enveloped me in a crushing hug. “Now you’re my Shield-Sister and we can go on all sorts of adventures together!”

I smiled as I patted her head. “Of course.”

Everyone seemed keen on congratulating me so it was past dusk when I finally got to the back door of the mead hall. I felt drunk on all the well wishes even though I’d had nothing to drink.

_Well, time to rectify that,_ I thought as I sat down between the twins.

While I was not surprised that Tilma had outdone herself in the kitchens, I was surprised that the fare was a bit different than usual. I grabbed a haunch of a rabbit in front of me and bit in, expecting that too-crisp taste. My eyes widened as the meat practically fell off the bone. It was rubbed with lavender and I practically purred as I devoured it.

To my right, I heard Vilkas swear and I glanced to see that he held a bone in his hand but the meat had fallen to his plate. He noticed me snickering and frowned as I devoured my piece, chuckling all the while.

“How can you eat this?” he asked, abandoning the bone to pick at the meat with his fingers. “It barely feels cooked!”

I grinned, breaking the small bone to suck the marrow out. “The rarer the better.”

Vilkas raised an eyebrow. “Do they even cook meat in Elsweyr? Or do they just eat it right from the animal?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Khajiit do cook their meat although not much as you do in Skyrim. But in dire circumstances, yes, we do eat raw game.”

“They season everything with moon sugar, I’ve heard,” Farkas said and I turned to look at him.

“And?” I lifted a goblet of wine to my mouth. “Moon sugar is very important to all Khajiit, both culturally and religiously.”

“But isn’t it, like, super addictive?” Torvar asked from further down the table. I rolled my eyes at the very obvious stereotype.

“Well, the raw stuff _is_ incredibly powerful,” I said, grabbing a sweetroll and turning it in my claws. “But when it’s used in cooking, there’s enough regular sugar that it barely effects even the tiniest kit. But raw moon sugar and skooma . . .” I shook my head. “I’ve lost many friends to those addictions.”

“So, is it true that the moons decide the breed of a Khajiit?” Vilkas asked. I turned to him, curious how he knew that.

“That is the belief, yes.” I told the hall an abridged story of Jone and Jode and how their faces decided where we would be placed on the Lunar Lattice. After a while, I realized the hall was getting bored.

This was a mead hall and they wanted stories of blood and valor, not the finer points of religion.

“But anyways,” I said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Last year, I was had _quite_ the adventure in Solstheim.”

This got everyone interested and I began telling of the odd adventures I had, including the time I had to recover a portfolio from a shipwreck and realized that it had been all the volumes of the _Lusty Argonian Maid_.

By the time I told that story, most people were deep in their cups and the hall practically shook in laughter. It felt good to celebrate something good for once. I had become a part of this guild based on my honor and not by murdering an old woman or helping an innocent man go to prison. Either this new chapter was going to be interesting or incredibly boring.

The night continued with more stories and more booze. The Companions were fun to get drunk with and for a moment, I let my inhibitions down. I was meandering about the hall when I felt someone grab my tail. My brain addled from the alcohol, I turned towards the perpetrator and met the ruddy face of Torvar.

“Let go of Ranahad’s tail,” I hissed, ears folding back in warning. Around me, people waited with bated breath as they waited for the ever-inebriated man to respond.

“What, this?” He gave a tug and I squeaked as he pulled me flush against his chest. His scent was overwhelming—booze and sweat and sex—and I struggled to get away from Torvar and his leer. “D’you make that sound in bed?”

“I said let go!” I struggled more and he put his arms around my torso, hands palming my breasts and his nose deep in my mane.

“I’ve never fucked a beast before,” Torvar said, his voice hot on the back of my neck. “I wonder if down there is just as furry as the rest of you.”

“Please, let me go!” With most of the Companions either passed out completely or on the verge, his actions were ignored. I felt the prickling of tears in my eyes. How could a band of warriors whose main mantra was honor allow such things, on a new blood’s first day? Honor my ass.

“Torvar. Let her go.” I looked up to see Vilkas walking towards us, his expression beyond livid. For a brief second, Torvar’s grip loosened and I took my chance. I raked my claws up over his hips, digging deep through the boiled leather and into the sensitive skin there. He yowled in surprise and released me.

“You fucking bitch!” Torvar’s cry brought a few stares and Vilkas was quick to grasp the man’s neck.

“How dare you take advantage of the new blood on her first night. Her _first fucking night_ and you attack her like this?” Vilkas shook the smaller man and I had no doubt that he could kill him right then and there.

“I—I didn’t mean it!” he protested weakly.

“Like hell you didn’t.” Vilkas let go but he pushed the man towards the living quarters. “You’re done for tonight. Go clean up and don’t think that Kodlak won’t hear about this.”

The threat seemed to sober the perpetually drunk man and he stumbled downstairs, muttering all the while. I turned to Vilkas and the adrenaline exited my system, severe fatigue washing over me.

“I—I think I’m going to get some air,” I said to no one in particular. I stumbled past Skjor passed out cold on the table and Ria astride Farkas’s lap as she told him stories of Cyrodiil to the back door and slammed it behind me.

The tears that had been gathering throughout the entire incident finally spilled over and I collapsed on the edge of the porch, a loud sob coming out of my throat. I didn’t understand exactly why Torvar’s advances had affected me so.

“Are you alright?” Vilkas asked as he stepped outside.

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He walked forward and sat beside me, powerful thighs touching mine. He held out a tankard and I took it with still-shaking hands. “It’s just water,” Vilkas said as I looked down at it. “I thought this might help you feel better.”

“Thank you,” I said, truly meaning it. I lifted the tankard to my lips and felt Vilkas’s eyes on me the entire time. The water was refreshing, as well as the soft breeze that brought the heady scent of Vilkas beside me.

“He will be punished for that,” he admitted after a pause. I had the feeling that unlike Farkas, Vilkas detested silence.

“I know.” I tapped my claws against the iron tankard in a nonsensical pattern. “It’s just that this isn’t uncommon. Many times I’ve had to bat drunk men away because they want to be able to say they’ve fucked a beast.”

Vilkas’s large hand came to rest on my back. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. That’s just a small price to pay for being a Khajiit in a foreign land.” I stared at the aurora, slithering across the sky like a massive green snake. “It was worse in Solstheim. When I was in Raven Rock, many reminded me that slavery is still legal in Morrowind and that this wasn’t Skyrim.”

He nodded. “I’d read that somewhere. Is that true that they would chain up Khajiit and Argonians and later make clothing out of their skins?”

I blinked. Very few Nords knew much about the world outside Skyrim. Either he was well traveled or well-read and I couldn’t tell which. My gut said that it was the latter. “Unfortunately yes. I had to help the councilor on Raven Rock and I couldn’t look him dead in the eye when he boasted that his cloak had been lined with a Carthay’s fur.”

For a moment I felt his hand tense on my back. “Those bastards.” Vilkas relaxed and I was surprised on how coherent he seemed so late into the celebration.

“You don’t seem that drunk,” I commented, looking up into his silver eyes that burned in the darkness of his warpaint.

“I like to be clear headed. Unlike some other people.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one morning we found that man dead from choking on his own vomit.”

“But he’s a Shield-Sibling,” I said and shrugged. He would most likely get off with just a slap on the wrist. The Companions were a strange guild in Skyrim. It was all honor this, honor that, honor fucking everything.

We lapsed into a silence and it was filled with unspoken words I couldn’t even begin to decipher. I opened my mouth a few times but the words always seemed to die on my tongue. Vilkas’s heat was nice against the late autumn wind and I laid my head on his shoulder, feeling the soft scrape of linen under my cheek. If I closed my eyes I could see myself as a normal person, not the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild or the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood or even the Dragonborn.

I was just Ranahad.

And I was fine with that.

I felt Vilkas chuckle and I lifted my head. “What?”

“You must be more drunk than I realized because you’re purring.”

“Am I?” I placed a hand to my chest and felt the vibrations that I couldn’t seem to control. “Oh.”

Vilkas waved a hand. “It’s fine.”

I put my head back on his shoulder and I closed my eyes. I wondered how the others would react if they knew how bloodthirsty and callous I was. They thought I was honorable but I was a Khajiit and the thing I excelled at was lying.

I was sobering up but some wine still flittered through my veins. “I know what you are,” I said, my nose deep in the fabric of his tunic. He smelled really nice, sharp and invigorating but comforting at the same time.

“What?” Vilkas’s voice dropped to a throaty baritone and I felt like I was one second from being cat-flavored werewolf food.

“Farkas had to change in Dustman’s Cairn,” I said. “But I’ve seen werewolves countless times before so it wasn’t that shocking.”

“You must keep this a secret. None of the whelps know.” Vilkas’s voice held a bit of desperation and I looked up at him. “Promise me you’ll keep this to yourself.”

I gave him a deadpan look. “Trust me, I can keep a secret. It’s the basis of Khajiit culture.”

He laughed at my half-assed joke but I could tell he believed me. I yawned behind my hand and Vilkas stood, holding a hand up for me. “You look tired. Perhaps you should retire.”

“I think you’re right,” I muttered and stood. Vilkas was certainly tall but he lacked his twin’s bulk. His muscles didn’t have that Nord bulkiness but I bet he had a crazy amount of stamina.

“You keep my secret and I’ll keep yours,” Vilkas said as he opened the door to a far more subdued Jorrvaskr. I followed him as we descended the stairs and smirked as he ran a hand reverently across the new piece I’d retrieved from Dustman’s Cairn. I paused at the entryway of the whelp’s quarters and bit my lip.

“Well, goodnight, dog,” I said with a grin.

“Sleep well, cat,” Vilkas replied and walked down the hallway to his personal rooms. I felt content as I slipped under the covers, purring quietly as I settled.

It was the first time someone had ever called me cat without malice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, sparks are starting to fly! And I have no idea where that Torvar scene came from, it just did. Made me wonder if there are people in Tamriel that are attracted to Argonians and Khajiit. Knowing what some people enjoy in our universe . . . yeah, probably.
> 
> If you haven't stopped at the first chapter, leave a few kudos or a comment! :3


	6. Heroes, Thieves, and Dirty Cheats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice is served (with no murders, how boring!) and Ranahad pays a courtesy call to everyone's favorite redhead thief.

Vilkas had said that Torvar would be punished for the things that he did the night I became a Companion, but a week passed and nothing had changed. Torvar was still a drunken asshole and if the glares leveled at me were more baneful than usual, no one said anything.

And that’s what pissed me off.

I spent more nights at Breezehome and took the far-flung jobs that took weeks. Was I avoiding the Companions? Perhaps. But they didn’t seem to take notice of my strange behavior, which was fine by me.

And they didn’t bat an eye when I asked to go on jobs alone. I gave a half-assed explanation that I worked the best by myself and I’d survived almost five years wandering Skyrim and not wounding myself mortally. Somehow, they bought it and I was free to avoid them to my heart’s content.

So I was shocked when I returned from a job in Markarth—why fucking Markarth? I _hated_ that city—and Aela enveloped me in her arms the moment I set one foot into the hall. She smelled of honey, freshly-cut wood, and of course wolf.

“That’s . . . quite a welcome,” I said as she pulled back.

“I heard,” she said. At my frown, she came closer to my ears. “About what happened to you the night you became a Companion.”

I growled from deep in my throat. “Oh?”

“Vilkas told the Harbinger the night after. We questioned Torvar but when we went to find you, you were already on a job. And you’ve been gone on jobs ever since. We can’t do any action before you tell what happened.”

The retort that was building on my tongue died in a pathetic puff of smoke. “Oh. That’s, uh . . .” I’d expected that the Companions to brush this under the rug, maybe not let him take jobs for a few weeks.

“Come with me, Ranahad.” Aela took my arm and steered me down the steps to the living quarters. As we walked down the hallway to Kodlak’s chambers, I felt that same flutter of fear that I’d had when the captain called _“Next, the cat!”_ And unlike Helgen, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wanted to either scream or brutally kill someone, the latter of which would make them revoke my place in their fold.

When we got to Kodlak’s rooms, the sounds of an argument reached our ears and my ears pricked up in interest.

“Why am I getting in trouble?” a voice bemoaned. Torvar. “It’s not my fault she couldn’t take a joke.”

“Forcing yourself on a woman that doesn’t want you isn’t a joke.” A shiver went down my spine as Vilkas’s deep voice reverberated with unspoken threats. “You didn’t see the fear in her eyes or the way she broke down afterwards.”

I glanced at Aela and she gestured to the door. _Well, Alduin waits for no dragon_ , I thought and opened the door. Kodlak was seated at the desk in the corner, watching the scene unfold with a shadowed look. Vilkas leaned against the table where I’d first met them, arms folded against his chest. Torvar paced in the space between them and his head snapped up as I entered.

“Oh, fucking Talos,” he groaned. “She’s here?”

“Of course she is,” Vilkas snapped. “She’s the one you assaulted or is your memory that bad?”

“Vilkas, calm yourself. Let Ranahad speak for herself.”

He nodded and turned to me. “We need to hear your side of the story.”

I took a deep breath, hating how ragged my throat felt, and began to tell my tale. I was drunk, sure, but I remembered how he whispered those nasty things in my ears. I stared directly at Torvar the entire time, who finally had the audacity to look somewhat ashamed.

“And that’s it, yeah,” I finished lamely.

There was a pause as the people gathered took in my story. The breath stalled in my throat as I waited for something, _anything_ to be done.

Just as I thought that I was going to Shout in annoyance, Kodlak stood. As he did, I smelled the stale scent of sickness. Was that the reason he spent most of his time in his rooms? “I have heard your tale, Ranahad, and I apologize on behalf of the Companions that something to that degree happened in our hall.” He turned towards Torvar. “You bear the title of a Companion but disrespect a woman on her first night as a Companion.”

Torvar snorted. “Can a beast be called a woman, really?”

My mouth dropped open. Most Nords were passive-aggressive in the prejudice and those that were actively vitriolic were the outliers. “That’s enough,” Aela snapped from beside me. “Ranahad is a Companion and should be treated with the respect she deserves.”

Torvar looked like he wanted to say more but he kept his mouth shut. When he didn’t respond, Vilkas looked up and met my eyes. His face was devoid of the usual dark warpaint and it made him look a bit older and more approachable.

“Regardless of what you think, the matter of the fact is that you assaulted a fellow Companion. That is punishable by removal from the Companions but it’s up to Ranahad.” His eyes bored into mine. “What do you think is an appropriate punishment?”

I took a deep breath. Well, at least he was going to get punished. “Well, I have a few ideas . . .” Oh, I certainly did. Images of his body hanging from the rafters flashed in my mind’s eye and I’d be lying if the image wasn’t satisfying.

But as I looked around, a part of me acknowledged this wasn’t the Brotherhood and killing those who disobeyed wasn’t the acceptable way to deal with problems. A part of me deflated in resignation. I turned towards Torvar and smiled a saccharine sweet smile. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your sober. Every time I come in from a job, you’re sitting down at the table, a bottle in your hand.”

“That’s not true!” Torvar protested. “You’ve seen me working in the training yard.”

“Perhaps, but you don’t stay out there long. And I’ve overheard you multiple times complaining about training and how you don’t need it. Are you that good? Can you handle yourself in the wilds of Skyrim for weeks on end?”

He seemed to flounder for a moment and then pursed his lips. “Probably not.”

“Well, that’s something you need to work on, hm?” I looked at the other Companions gathered. “It seems fair to me that he should sober up. Perhaps for good.”

“You can’t be serious,” Torvar whined.

“Oh, I am.” I chuckled darkly and the flash of fear in his bloodshot eyes felt incredibly satisfying. “Once you sober up, I think you should take your training seriously. And once you’re good enough to fend off anything that comes at you, start taking jobs like the rest of us.”

I looked at Vilkas, Aela, and Kodlak who watched with impassive faces. “Does that seem like a reasonable punishment?”

Kodlak bowed his head. “It is reasonable.” He looked up at Torvar with a stormy expression. “You’ve heard your punishment. Now go to the Temple of Kynareth and ask Danica to help you.”

“But—but . . .” Despite being getting his ass handed to him by the de facto leader of the Companions, he _still_ wanted to protest.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I really hate to do this, but since you can’t see reason, there’s no choice.” I took a deep breath in, feeling the syllables pool in my throat.

“ _GOL HAH!_ ”

The world flashed cornflower yellow as my bones vibrated with the power of the Shout. My throat felt raw and the next breath I took rattled in my chest. Damn, this Shout took so much out of me.

“So you _are_ the Dragonborn,” Aela whispered beside me. I turned towards her, an apology poised on my tongue. “I had my suspicions but I didn’t want to pressure you.”

I nodded. Well, at least someone was honest. “Thanks.” I turned towards Torvar, who had a dazed look on his face. It was the same look the Reavers got when I cleared the stones on Solstheim. “What are you going to do now?”

“’M gonna go to the temple of Kynareth,” he replied with a blank face. He walked towards the door without really looking at where he was going and the door clicked quietly behind him.

There was a pause as the others absorbed what had just happened. I felt eyes on me and I met Vilkas’s eyes. They were wide, shocked, but with a sort of amazement as if suddenly the world made a lick of sense. The silence was killing me and I cleared my throat. It still felt raw from Shouting and the only thing I wanted was a cup of tea with an exuberant amount of honey. “I-I’m sorry,” I admitted. “It was the only way I could see him agreeing with me.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Kodlak said and I turned away from Vilkas’s look. “Hopefully things will turn out for the better now.”

I smiled but unease curled in my stomach. Things always got worse before it got better. It was only a matter of time before the roof of Jorrvaskr blew to Sovngarde.

* * *

 

“Where are you going?”

I sighed as I shouldered my pack. “Riften. I’ve got some business there.” I hadn’t been by the Guild for a while and no doubt Brynjolf would want to wring my neck for staying away so long.

“I don’t want to know,” Lydia muttered and returned to polishing her armor. Even though she’d been ecstatic on me joining the Companions, she was suspicious of when I mentioned anything vaguely as “business”.

“I’ll be back in a week,” I said, opening the door. “Bye, Lydia.”

She didn’t look up from her breastplate and I closed the door behind me. There was some sort of rift between that seemed to get larger and larger as the years went on. I thought deeply about this on the long ride to Riften. Shadowmere panted with effort as he blasted down the road and the wind whipping through my fur and mane brought me comfort.

Lydia held me to such a high standard and it pained me to think that she would recoil at who I really was. She knew about my involvement with half a dozen Daedric Princes but knew nothing about my connections to the Guild or the Brotherhood. I just wanted to come clean but Lydia would most likely run to Dragonsreach and beg Jarl Balgruuf to be assigned to a different Thane.

Secunda was at the apex of the sky when I arrived at the Riften stables. I left Shadowmere with the stablehand and gave him a look to behave himself. I didn’t want a repeat of the Markarth incident. The poor guy still had the bruises to this day.

I lifted the hood of my Nightingale armor and nodded to the guard, trying to act as innocuous as possible. Riften was damp as usual and the cobblestones shined in the moonlight. I made my way to the Bee and Barb, knowing that there would be a dry place and decent mead.

It was lively inside, the fire warm and the Black-Briar mead flowing. I sat down at the bar and surveyed the crowd. It was relatively crowded for a Morndas night but Riften could be quite the party central.

Keerava finally noticed me and slammed a tankard of mead in front of me, grumbling something about the Thieves Guild. I thanked her and she hissed in warning. Her threats were empty because she knew that I often paid for others if they were too drunk to do so.

“Keerava,” I said after a while. The Argonian looked up from where she was wiping down the bar. “What’s the news in town?”

She launched into a quick recap of the latest gossip. Maven was doing well with her sudden monopoly on the mead business but Sibbi was still a pain in her side. The children at Honorhall were happy and many had left with new parents.

“And there’s a crazy guy they locked up,” Keerava said. “He was raving and practically begged the guards to put him in jail. Sugar tooth, that one.” My ears pricked up. _Sugar tooth_ was Khajiiti slang for a skooma addict.

“That’s interesting,” I said, staring into my tankard.

The door banged open and I glanced out of the corner of my eye at the newcomer. Or rather newcomers. The light glinted off their matching armor and I bit back a hiss. Why were Farkas and Vilkas here of all places? I’d gone to Riften to get away from the Companions for a few blessed moments of reprieve.

They didn’t seem to recognize me with my hood on and I breathed a sigh of relief. Nords were powerful on the battlefield, sure, but incredibly unobservant. Keerava brought me another tankard and I pulled out my journal and checked how many pages of miscellaneous quests I’d been roped into. It was five pages long. At this rate, all my fur would be white when I defeated Alduin.

After prioritizing what needed to be done first, I left a few coins for my drinks and stood. I was just out the door when a hand grabbed my wrist. My ears folded back and I snapped my head towards whoever held my wrist. I met the inquisitive eyes of Farkas.

“Do you know of a Khajiit named Ranahad?”

“No,” I said, letting my accent deepen. “This one does not know who you are speaking about.”

“Oh.” Farkas let go of my wrist. “Sorry for bothering you, ma’am.”

I left with an indignant sniff and walked the short way to Honeyside. I unlocked it and Iona gave a little shriek as I entered.

“My Thane!” the redhead cried. “It is very good to see you. How is everything?”

I smiled and pulled down my hood. “As good as I can be. Thank the gods the house is still standing.” I sat down in the chair and grabbed a pear off the table.

“I told you I was sorry,” Iona complained as she sat across from me. I would never stop teasing her about that time she managed to singe off an eyebrow and a half when trying to make Elsweyr fondue. The singe marks were forever burned into the ceiling.

“I know. I’m just teasing.” I bit into the pear and its juices ran down my chin. “If two burly Nords come around asking about me, please tell them you don’t know who they’re talking about.”

Iona gave me a leveled look. “Please don’t tell me you’ve got assassins on your ass again, Ranahad.”

I chuckled. “No, no, nothing like that. Just some friends that are too nosy for their own good.”

“And who are these friends, I wonder?” Unlike some of my other housecarls, Iona knew that I worked with some unsavory groups and seemed to have no problem with it. If I didn’t bring the chaos to Honeyside, she would turn a blind eye and I loved her for it.

I waved a hand. “No one bad, I can assure you. Just my Shield-Brothers.”

She blinked at me, mouth open in shock. “Your Shield-Brothers. So you’re a part of the Companions?”

“Yeah. Somehow they let me in.” I chuckled and stretched out in my chair. “If only they knew . . .”

“You’re here for business with the Guild, aren’t you?” It was rhetorical. “Well, your armor is where it usually is.”

I smiled. “You are a godsend, Iona.”

“Of course. I live to protect my Thane.”

I bit back an exasperated sigh. It seemed that all housecarls were reverent to the extreme when it came to Thanes. It had taken almost six months for Lydia to call me by my name. We sat in the small kitchen getting caught up until the wee hours of the morning. I had business in the morning so I bid Iona goodnight and stumbled into the master bedroom.

Morning came foggy and grim, a light mist coating the cobblestones. I didn’t waste any time on walking to the graveyard behind the Temple of Mara and, making sure no one was looking, pressed the hidden button. The sarcophagus rolled back with an unholy shriek and I made a mental note to bring that up with Brynjolf.

“Ah Guildmaster! You’re back!” Rune cried as I jumped down into the Cistern. His cry brought the attention of everyone else in the hideaway. As I walked into the middle, I noticed how there were even more people here than I’d remembered. The Thieves Guild was indeed getting back on its feet and it would take Alduin himself to break our grip on Skyrim.

“Ranahad,” Brynjolf said as I approached the desk where the redheaded thief stood bent over a scrap of parchment.

“Brynjolf,” I replied as I walked beside him and skimmed the parchment he’d been staring so attentively at. “How’s the Guild?”

“Getting better by the day, lass,” he said with a smirk. I rolled my eyes at his term of endearment and looked right at him.

“Anything unusual happen?”

We spent the next few hours discussing business and where we could go from here. Throughout our discussion, I couldn’t help but glance at the bookshelf behind him. It was full of various treasures I’d managed to find. Each item held a story behind it but the mannequin in the middle was still empty.

Brynjolf noticed me staring and smiled wearily at me. “We’ll find the Stones and then we will be the motherfucking Thieves Guild again.”

I chuckled. “Of course, Brynjolf.” An idea bubbled up in my mind. “Perhaps that would be a good quest for those who aren’t doing anything.”

He gave me a doubtful look and I laughed at his confusion. “What? Exploring dungeons are good for the soul.”

“Only you would say that, Ranahad.”

Eventually I was all caught up on business and Brynjolf suggested that we go to the training room to sharpen skills. I followed him across the Cistern to the training room which was empty for once.

I fiddled with the locked chests as Brynjolf practiced with his dagger on the training dummy. As I worked on the master lock, I kept glancing at Brynjolf. He was incredibly fast with his daggers and it was amazing to see a Nord move so fast. If he weren’t already involved with the Guild, I’d gladly give him a Brotherhood contract.

“What are you looking at, lass?” he asked with a smirk. “Admiring this beautiful body?”

I gave a smirk of my own. “Perhaps. Also thinking that you’d make a good assassin.”

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. “Really now? You’d let someone like me in?”

I shrugged. “Who am I to judge? When I joined, their ranks included a werewolf and an ancient vampire in the body of a young girl.”

“That’s quite the, uh, family.”

The lock finally opened and I rifled through the meager treasure inside. I pocketed the septims and left the potion before standing. “Indeed.”

“What kind of assassin are you?” Brynjolf asked. I turned toward him and smirked. He looked like a panther ready to strike as he leaned against the wall in his black Guild armor.

“The creative kind,” I said. “I don’t stick to one method so that each new kill was unique.”

He laughed. “Of course. Tell me, what was your favorite?”

“Well, the murder of the Emperor was interesting but he didn’t fight much as I slit his throat. But I think my favorite was when I killed Alain Dufont.”

“How’d you do that?”

I smirked. “Well, after killing all of his guards, I acted like a frightened traveler that had gotten lost. I knew he had quite the . . . appetite and I offered to suck him.”

Brynjolf laughed. “Oh, this _cannot_ end well.”

“As I was saying, he thought I was some needy Khajiit whore so he didn’t expect anything but good oral from a beast’s throat. And right when he was on the edge of orgasm, I bit his dick off.”

He whistled but his green eyes shone with desire. “Is that so?”

I nodded. “Not my finest kill but one of the more creative ones, I would say.”

“Mmn,” he muttered and I noticed how his leather breeches tented. “And did he enjoy it?”

I shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I guess. He couldn’t exactly praise me afterwards.” This was a game, I knew, and Brynjolf and I were veterans at it. It was all about placing your pieces in the right spot and waiting for the other to pounce at it.

“I bet you’re good at it,” he said as he walked towards me. “Perhaps some of the thrill comes from knowing damn well you could bite my dick off, lass.”

I licked my lips, fangs flashing in the darkness. “Don’t tempt me, Bryn.”

He came close—so close that we breathed the same breath of air—and I could feel his hardness as he pressed his hips to mine. Our lips were so close but neither dove in for a kiss. This wasn’t for love; it was just an errant fuck that didn’t mean anything at the end of the day.

I sighed in resignation. “If that’s how you want to play it, then so be it.” I pushed him to the back wall, sunk to my knees and began to unlace Brynjolf’s breeches. My claws scraped teasingly against the skin of his hips. He groaned and gripped my mane, waves of salty-smelling desire emanating from him. I chuckled quietly and freed him from his smallclothes.

Like most Nord men out there, Brynjolf had a decent sized cock, long and proud and red. “Eager one, aren’t we?” I murmured. He growled with impatience and I began to show him what I’d done to Alain at Raldbathar.

I licked up and down his shaft, making sure that not an inch was neglected. Multiple partners had said that my tongue could work magic and it was no doubt due to the barbs that were good at grooming my fur as well as scraping the meat off bones.

“Fuck,” Brynjolf hissed. “So good.”

 _Just wait,_ I thought and swallowed his length to the base. I smirked and swirled my tongue around, the barbs dragging across the sensitive flesh. I kept my mouth slack for the most part but every so often I tightened my jaw so he felt the slight nick of my teeth.

He moaned and tried to thrust into my throat. I hissed and pushed him back against the wall, claws digging into the skin of his muscular thighs. If I were a human or mer, I’d hollow out my cheeks but since those muscles were weaker, I began to purr.

The salty flavor was rapidly growing thicker in my throat and I felt the hand on my mane tighten. “O-oh fuck, Ranahad. I—I’m close,” Brynjolf said just before he came hard. I swallowed all of the salty liquid, trying not to grimace. Although I did enjoy giving oral, that didn’t mean I had to enjoy the taste of it.

I let go of Brynjolf and stood up, licking my lips. He looked lovely this disheveled, all tousled hair and bright eyes. “That was . . .” He searched for the right word in his haze. “ _Wow_.”

I smirked and walked out of the training room, hips and tail swaying suggestively. I’d need a few mugs of ale to get the taste out of my mouth but I felt no regret as I walked up the ladder to the secret entrance.

Business as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic isn't abandoned, I swear. It's just been a busy week and I didn't have that much time for editing and all that jazz. (having a birthday so close to a national holiday is annoying as hell)
> 
> The first part of this chapter is kinda new, as I realized that Torvar was never punished for his actions. I hope it's okay because it was a bitch to write. Still not happby about it. 
> 
> Here's where the E rating gets put into play. And good 'ol Brynjolf, am I right? He's got that cheeky Nordic charm that even Ranahad isn't immune to.
> 
> Leave kudos or a comment if you've enjoyed!


	7. Malachite and Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can convince Ranahad that skeevers weren't sent by daedra to torment Tamriel. A familiar friend of hers can't help but agree.

I stayed in Riften for a few days, reconnecting with various citizens and catching up on all the latest gossip. I spent time at Balimund’s forge, sharpening my axes and repairing my Nightingale armor.

“How’re you going to fix that?” the blacksmith asked as I laid out the armor on the workbench. The armor seemed to be a pattern of overlapping scales that never shone despite being made of some sort of metal.

“Just watch,” I replied and grabbed a vial of void salts. Putting a bit on my palm, I rubbed it over the large singe holes. Balimund looked over my shoulder as the armor seemed to knit together as if nothing had happened.

“What is that made out of?” he asked. I liked Balimund because he was inventive with his smithing. Just adding fire salts to the flames made everything sturdier and more reliable.

I shrugged. “Dunno. The person who gave it to me called it forged midnight.”

“Never heard of it.” He shrugged and continued his work. After stuffing the newly repaired armor into my bag, I grabbed the axes from my sides and tied a cloth over my face as I sat down at the grinder.

Balimund raised an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”

I held up an axe. “Malachite.”

He nodded, knowing how deadly malachite could be if not tempered properly. Dust from raw malachite was incredibly toxic and that didn’t go away even after it was molded. It was one of the major hazards that made people shy away from malachite armor and weapons.

I looked up from the grindstone just as screams erupted from the direction of Mistveil Keep. There were guards running and screaming and weapons being drawn. I stood up and brandished my newly sharpened axes. I searched around the marketplace to find the cause of the commotion. I couldn’t see anything but there was a strong scent of skeever in the air (well, strong _er_ ; Riften always smelled of dirty water and skeever shit to me).

“It’s massive!” a guard told Balimund when he asked what was going on. “The guy seemed normal when we put him in the cell and then he turned into a—a beast!”

Oh lovely. First Whiterun, now Riften.

I walked slowly towards Mistveil, wondering why I couldn’t smell wolf. Perhaps it wasn’t a werewolf then. A werebear? Or perhaps some werebeast I hadn’t seen before?

The wooden door leading to the prison suddenly burst open in an explosion of timber. The figure that stepped out was small and humanoid but it hissed in an oddly familiar way.

 _What the fuck,_ I thought, _is that a . . . wereskeever?_

The wereskeever bolted forward and the people in the marketplace began to scream. It was an ugly thing, gray fur matted and open sores oozing pus. Its crinkled whiskers twitched as it idled by the gate and then began streaking towards the Temple of Mara, where a small group of guards had gathered.

Like its canine cousin, the wereskeever cut through the small group like they were statues made out of butter. I growled and raced towards the beast, throwing one axe so that it distracted it from its rampage.

The axe landed squarely in the beast’s back but not close enough to do any major damage. It turned towards me and hissed, lips pulling back from rotten teeth. I responded with a growl of my own, teeth flashing in the cloudy sunlight. It took this as a challenge and raced towards me. I planted my feet and tightened the grip on my remaining axe.

The wereskeever charged then, dropping to all fours to get to me faster. It got halfway across the rickety boardwalk when an arrow flew through the air and found purchase in the beast’s abdomen. The thing stumbled for a moment but continued its attack. Another arrow punctured its tail, close to the base, and the wereskeever found itself stuck on the railing.

“Stupid, stinky rat!” a voice called out. It was incredibly familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on where I’d heard it before. I lurched forward to slit the poor beast’s throat and end its suffering when another arrow lodged itself in the wereskeever’s piss-yellow eye and exited behind the opposite ear.

I stepped forward, knowing the thing had died instantly when the arrow came out the other side. The marksman must’ve been a master with an incredibly strong bow to puncture the skull and come out on the other side. I fingered the fletching of the arrow, feeling how it was designed for aerodynamics instead of aesthetic. Glancing behind the wereskeever, I looked at where the arrow had come out. The head of it was about the same size as the shaft and ended with a slight curve like the nib of a stylus.

Ebony arrows, I realized. Who in Riften uses ebony arrows?

I walked around to its back and eased my axe out of the creature, grimacing at the smell it emitted when the weapon was dislodged. Skeevers were cesspools of disease and I didn’t want to get sick from doing something stupid. Again.

I wiped the gore off on my tunic and sheathed my axes. I turned and looked at Mistveil Keep where a figure stood, bow still drawn. It was a beautiful thing, polished ebony glittering in the sun and an arrow nocked and ready if the beast were to stir again. I looked at the figure holding the bow and gasped as I saw a familiar coat of cobalt blue fur.

“ _Inigo?_ ”

* * *

 

My former companion blinked as he lowered the bow. Apparently he hadn’t recognized me with my hood pulled up. “Ranahad?”

I couldn’t stop my stupid grin as I walked up the steps to where he stood. Inigo was just as I remembered, blue fur with white markings and a strange sense of humor. He looked skinnier than I’d remembered and his coat was dirty and matted. “I thought I’d never see you again! What happened?”

He looked at me, orange eyes spilling over with tears. “You don’t remember?”

I blinked. “No, I don’t really.”

“I, uh, tried to shoot you,” he supplied. “I ran to the nearest town and told the guards but when I returned to the campsite, your body was gone. I had to pay them to put me in that cell.”

Shoot me? When had he tried to shoot me?

And then the memory barreled into my mind. He’d been having a bad time dealing with skooma withdrawal and had thought I was an enemy. I remember waking up to an unbearable pain and Inigo screaming in the distance. He’d hit me square in the chest but his aim was off and he hadn’t hit anything incredibly vital.

I sighed. “I don’t remember much but it’s obvious you owe me. So come with me.” I held out a hand and Inigo blinked.

“I . . . fight with you?” He sounded like a frightened kit and I placed a hand on his shoulder. He wore only a pair of ragged trousers and I could feel him shivering under my grip.

“Yes.” I grinned. “It’ll be just like old times.”

The look on his face was beyond excited. “I promise you I will be beside you every battle!”

I laughed at his enthusiasm. “Of course. Just don’t aim your bow at me again.”

“Do not joke about such things, friend!”

After getting him some warm clothes, we sat down at the fire at Honeyside and drank most of the Black-Briar Reserve I’d saved for a special event. Inigo wanted to know what I had been up to the past few years and, for once, I told him everything.

“So you are the leader of two nasty but profitable groups and now you go and join the Companions who try to follow the law.” Inigo shook his head. “Ranahad, you have lit a fire under your tail and someday you will get singed.”

I sighed. Inigo gave good advice even if it was brutally honest. “Yeah. And only one of them knows I’m the Dragonborn.”

Inigo blinked. “The—the Dragonborn? So what you’re saying is that the ancient Nord hero is a Khajiit?” His face split into a beautiful smile. “Just imagine the shock of Skyrim when they realize that their legendary hero is a so-called beast.”

“Yeah. It was hard at first. A lot of people made me prove it. So I Shout at them and it usually makes them shut up.”

“Can you show me?” he asked, eyes alight.

I shrugged. “Are you ready for this? I’ve been known to Shout people through walls.”

“I bet you did. Now show me.”

I took a breath and let the Word flow through me. “FEIM!” The world shimmered a pale blue around me and Inigo’s eyes widened.

“Ranahad, you’re . . . see through!”

I smiled, knowing all too well that I looked like a ghost. Sort of like that headless horseman that roams the roads of Whiterun hold. “It’s called Become Ethereal.”

“Wow,” he murmured. “You really have changed, huh?”

He couldn’t be more correct. When I had met Inigo, I’d been a scrawny Khajiit that was on the run from her past and he was addled on skooma. I’d done a lot of maturing since we’d parted ways. And I was done running.

“But enough about me. How are you?”

Inigo said he was fine and had managed to wean himself off of skooma. I applauded his effort because recovering from a skooma addiction was practically unheard of. But if there was anyone who could do it, I knew it could be Inigo.

“So you’re off it for good?” I asked, tracing the rim of my cup. “Even the processed stuff?”

Inigo bit his lip. “I dunno. I haven’t had any moon sugar since I was imprisoned and I don’t know how I would handle it.”

“I do have some,” I admitted. “It’s mostly regular sugar but with enough crystal moonlight to give a nice buzz.”

He smirked. “You’re a better Khajiit than I am.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a hero from Nord legend that is destined to save Skyrim. I am a _horrible_ Khajiit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this is a teeny-tiny chapter. Then again, I had to do some rearranging and shizz.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by an experience I had in-game. Thanks to a mod, a wereskeever spawned in the Riften jail. The weird thing was that it was invisible until I got near it. So I'd hear it (it sounded like a vanilla werewolf) and the guards panicing but it wouldn't appear until I was in front of the cell. Man, I love mods.
> 
> Inigo is an awesome follower, and belongs to Smartbluecat. Be prepared for the upcoming banter.
> 
> Leave a few kudos or a comment if you enjoy! :)


	8. Winter's Cradlesong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blizzards are the best places to bare your soul and admit your insecurities. If only it weren't cold enough to freeze your tail off.

I trudged through the snow, the wind whipping through the thick wool cloak I’d gotten shortly after escaping Helgen. Beside me, Inigo was just as miserable as I was. Perhaps I was stupid for leaving when the first blizzard of the year was hours away from touching landfall but hey, we all make mistakes.

“I think you were born in Skyrim,” Inigo said over the howling wind. “You aren’t affected by the cold.”

I shook my head. “No, actually, I was born in Elsweyr. I came to Skyrim when I was five.”

“And why did you leave?”

I took a shaky breath, suddenly overcome with emotion. A lot of times when Khajiit left the homeland for good, it was because we were forced out or taken by others. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked about it. I grew up in a coastal village in the south and I was the only kit of the local Clan Mother.”

Inigo’s eyes widened. “Your mother was a Clan Mother?”

“Yeah. She taught me a lot about our religion and how important moon sugar was. Since I was her only kit, I was destined to become the next Clan Mother and take her place when it was time.” I rubbed at my eyes. I couldn’t tell if they were watering because of the snow or because of the tears. “And then there was a random raid on our village by the Thalmor. They discovered that my mother was the leader of a skooma ring. A lot of people were killed but since I was young, they spared me.”

Inigo didn’t reply so I continued with my story. “I was taken in as a servant for a high elf family but I didn’t know a lick of common so they quickly grew tired of me. I was bounced around a lot of households until I was given to a Nord family that had supported the Thalmor.”

“So that’s how you came to Skyrim.” It wasn’t a question.

“They were a lot better than the high elves but not by much. The man of the house hated me especially and called me beast. But one of his daughters was nice to me and taught me the language and how to fight. She was the one that gave me my amulet.” I placed my hand over the place where the amulet hummed underneath my armor.

“How’d you get out?” Inigo asked.

“Well, I went out hunting with her and her brother and when he stalked off, she threw a pack at me and told me to run. So I did.” I snorted. “I cavorted with bandits and I met you. After you fled, I patched myself up and started running again. I didn’t know Skyrim very well so I didn’t know I was approaching the border to Cyrodiil and that Imperial camp.”

“And then Helgen,” my companion murmured.

“And then Helgen,” I repeated.

We didn’t speak much as we finally managed to arrive at the fort that I’d been contracted to purge. It was quick work as they had shit-tier weapons and armor and couldn’t hit the broad side of a horker.

I slit the throat of a bandit, relishing the heat of his blood as it sprayed across my face. I felt warmer in the heat of battle but the wind still whipped against my whiskers. I looked across the courtyard to see the Inigo dispatching the last few archers with his bow. When the dying screams faded, all I could hear was the howl of the wind.

“Let’s go inside,” Inigo said and I followed eagerly as he opened the door to the inside of the fort. I was able to pick them off quietly and without fuss, testing out the Daedric bow in the process. It had a smooth draw despite being unused for Divines knows how many years. It was definitely a keeper.

After the bandit chief fell, killed almost instantly from an arrow to the spine, Inigo and I made camp in the kitchens.

“This weather isn’t going to let up soon,” Inigo grumbled as he added logs to the fire. It was cramped and smelly in the abandoned fort but better than the blizzard outside. As I scavenged through the fort for food and bounty. The bandits that had taken Fort Greenwall were inexperienced and clumsy so their bounty was mostly weapons and armor. Most of it was worthless to me but I managed to unlock a chest that contained a hefty purse.

When I got back, Inigo was making a meager meal out of the supplies he’d found in the kitchen. A pheasant roasted on the spit while potatoes and leeks simmered in a pot. I sat beside him and he smiled.

“It’s no feast but it’s edible.”

I shrugged. “Hey, it’s better than salted meat and hard bread.” I shuddered at the pathetic excuse for food that Nords seemed to love.

“Don’t me started on prison food,” Inigo growled. His fur rose and I couldn’t help but laugh. He frowned at me for a second and joined me in laughing. Before we knew it, we were rolling around on the ground laughing.

“Oh fuck,” Inigo said, wiping his eyes. There was an incredibly disgusting scent and I grimaced. I was just about to ask where it was coming from when Inigo exclaimed, “Oh no! The food!”

During our laughing episode, the leeks and potatoes had congealed into a soupy mess that didn’t smell that appealing. But we were going to be here a while if the sounds of the wind battering the worn stone said anything about it. And if my time in Skyrim had taught me anything, it was that you took whatever was offered because it could be taken away in the blink of an eye.

The pheasant wasn’t too badly burned and we ate our impromptu feast in relative silence. The potato-leek slop wasn’t all that bad if you didn’t look at what you were eating. I felt oddly at peace even though I was surrounded with decomposing bodies in the next room. It was the little things in life that made it all the while.

We laid out our bedrolls next to the fire while the stormed raged on. It would last well into tomorrow and I had no plans to hurry off to. The Companions all knew that I took quite a while on jobs so they wouldn’t worry about me too much.

Inigo had gone off exploring on his own and it gave me time to think. I spent the sudden silence by pawing through my journal and smiling at the memories of the antics I’d written. I teared up at a few points and laughed at others, smiling fondly the entire time.

I dozed off after a while, the crackle of the dying fire and the howl of the wind Skyrim’s familiar lullaby. When I woke the next morning, Inigo was up and pacing, muttering under his breath.

“The storm’s over,” he said.

I stood up and stretched. Somehow I’d managed to get a good night’s sleep amongst dust and about two dozen rotting corpses. “We should head out soon. Don’t want to get caught in another storm.”

Inigo burst into laughter and I had the sneaking suspicion that he’d never let me live that one down.

Lovely.

We packed our things, ate a quick breakfast of hard bread and the rest of the pheasant, and were on our way. On a normal day, the trip back to Whiterun would’ve taken a day and a half. But with all the snow, it was easily going to take twice as long.

“What are you gonna do when we get to Whiterun?” I asked as we trudged through snow that was knee-high at the lowest and waist-high at the highest. I tolerated Skyrim for the most part but right now, I honestly didn’t mind if Alduin razed this frozen hellhole of a province to the ground.

 _For a person that denies the true power of the Dragonborn, you are very sadistic_.

“Shut up!” I cried.

Inigo frowned at me. “Who? Me or Mister Dragonfly?”

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t you. Or Mister Dragonfly.” I kicked the snow in front of me, wishing, that I was kicking a certain skeleton. “I have a, uh, voice in my head.”

Inigo’s ears flattened in concern. “Perhaps you should see a healer about that.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Divines, why was this so hard to say out loud? “When I was in Solstheim, I fought against the first Dragonborn. It was a hard battle and it was sheer luck that I won. And when he died, I absorbed his soul plus all the souls that he stole from me.

“I took his clothes and his weapons as consolation and I went on my merry fucking way. I expected him to just fade away like all the others. But he stuck around for some reason and now he won’t go away and makes annoying remarks about my life.”

There was a pause, punctuated by the cries of winter birds. Inigo turned to me, his eyes wide. “I still think you should see a healer.”

I shrugged. Perhaps it was a good idea but would someone like Danica be able to fix a problem like mine? It didn’t seem like your run-of-the-mill malady that you could zap away with a few glowing magic fingers. Being the Dragonborn really complicated things.

“Um, Ranahad, situation up ahead!” Inigo’s voice, tinged with an undercurrent of fear, brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up and heard a familiar screech that sent shivers down other spines but just made me groan in annoyance.

I pulled my bow off my back, sighing as I nocked the arrow. Beside me, Inigo looked torn between running and taunting the dragon. It landed with a hard _thunk!_ as it cracked the cobblestone road underneath its large claws. Its gray-green scales glittered in the patchy sunlight and if it weren’t Oblivion-bent on gobbling me up like a fattened chicken, I’d call it pretty.

“You were no match for Alduin and no match for me,” the dragon said in a rumbling voice.

“Yeah, and what was that fiasco at Throat of the World?”

If it was possible, the dragon rolled its eyes. “Alduin is in Sovngarde feasting on the souls of your dead comrades. _Hi fen mah_ , Dovahkiin. _Lein fen kos diivon arkh Alduin fen al hi_.”

I lashed my tail in annoyance. “Let’s get this over with so I can get out of this cold.” I pulled the string back and the arrow whistled through the air, piercing the thin membrane of the wing closest to its body. The dragon roared in protest and reared, blood splattering the virgin snow.

“Get away from my friend, you stinking gas bag!” Inigo hissed as he fired arrows at the dragon, finding weak spots that even I didn’t know existed. It belched a torrent of fire and I jumped out of the way. The heat seared my side and I was glad that I didn’t singe my fur. This time.

I just wanted to be back in Whiterun and chase the cold away beside the fire. And this scaly motherfucker was blocking the road. So, seeing no other option, I opened my mouth.

“ _JOOR ZAH FRUL!_ ”

The dragon recoiled as the Shout hit it straight on. As it was enveloped in a bluish glow, Inigo and I kept up the deluge of arrows, making the dragon look like a very irate pin cushion. One of mine punctured the beast’s eye and thanks to its weakened state, the arrow pierced through its skull and the dragon collapsed, dead.

I watched eagerly as scales and viscera was burned in a conflagration that came out of nowhere. I closed my eyes as tendrils of energy—this dragon’s soul seemed to be heavy on the blues—entered my body and centered somewhere behind my breastbone. Once it was done, I opened my eyes and turned to Inigo who gaped at me.

“Wow, that’s cool,” he said and scrunched his nose. “And smelly.”

I laughed. and  “Yeah, I know. Now let’s collect our arrows and get on our way.”

It was still a long way to Whiterun but now I had a spring in my step and all but ran to the gates.

* * *

 

I returned to Jorrvaskr in the last dregs of the blizzard and the crackle of the fire was amazing after a few weeks of biting winds. The hall was relatively full and they greeted me with smiles and cries of joy.

“You have frost on your whiskers!” Ria cried.

“It happens,” I said as I sat down heavily by the fire. I grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol and opened it up. It felt so good to sit down somewhere out of the wind and snow. Inigo and I had parted at the gates, expressing his desire to explore Skyrim and find himself. I’d let him go, knowing that he would be okay and that my house was always open to him.

I finished the bottle of alcohol—ale, I realized as I licked my lips—and took my heavy cloak off my shoulders. I threw it on the ground and sat deeply in my chair. The Companions continued their conversations and I was content to just listen and warm my bones.

After a while, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Vilkas staring down at me. His forehead glistened with sweat as if he’d just finished training. And knowing him, that was most likely the case. “Yes, Shield-Brother?”

“Kodlak wants to see you,” he said and his face was unreadable in the shadows of the fire. We hadn’t talked much since I had Shouted at Torvar. His gaze from that day burned a trail in my dreams and it made the fur on the back of my neck rise in anticipation.

I stood. “Is he in his chambers?” The sickness had sapped most of Kodlak’s strength and he often didn’t make it up the stairs most days and on nights when I came in late, I could hear his ragged coughs from the other side of the hallway. Winter wasn’t helping, sapping the heat from everybody’s bones, especially the young and the elderly. There were even whispers that he wouldn’t survive until spring.

Vilkas nodded. “Yes. And he’s been waiting for you to come back.” There was an undercurrent of suspicion in his voice and I wondered if he had recognized me in Riften.

“Of course. I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” And I turned and headed down the stairs, feeling Vilkas’s stare follow me the entire time. I rubbed my neck as I entered the living quarters, confused about Vilkas and his stare that caused luna moths to flutter in my stomach.

I got to the end the hallway and knocked on Kodlak’s door. “Come in, Ranahad,” he said, a cough bubbling in his chest. I opened the door and the Harbinger was sitting at the table in the corner. That sickly smell that I’d noticed the last time I’d talked to the Harbinger was thicker now, coming off the old man in sweltering waves. There was no denying that he was sick.

“You asked for me?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Please sit.” I did what he asked and sat in the seat Vilkas had occupied when I’d joined. Kodlak looked far worse than he had and there was a sadness that never seemed to leave his eyes.

“What did you want to speak to me about?”

Kodlak sighed deeply. It was the sigh of a tired man. “You saw Farkas transform in Dustman’s Cairn, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied, not sure of where this was going. “He told me about the Circle being werewolves and the Silver Hand.”

“Yes. Some of us take to it more than others.” I tilted my head in confusion. “Some of us are more inclined to accept Hircine’s gift like Aela. Others don’t.” I could tell he wanted to say more but he cut himself off.

“What about you?” I hoped I wasn’t intruding on the old man’s life. Even when he was weak with sickness, I knew he could beat my ass into the dust.

“Well, I grow old. My mind turns towards the horizon. To Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won’t call an animal to glory as he would a true Nord warrior. Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric Lord Hircine. Some may prefer an eternity in his Hunting Grounds, but I     crave the fellowship of Sovngarde.”

I nodded along, not quite understanding the Nordic fascination about going to Sovngarde. What was so great about slumming it up in the afterlife? Who knew, maybe those people from the legends were major assholes. “So . . . you’re looking to cure yourself?”

“Yes, but it's no easy matter. But you don't need to share the worries of an old warrior.” I could understand where he was coming from. Although he wasn’t completely evil, Hircine was a bitch to his werewolves.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Kodlak smirked. “I suspected you were the Dragonborn, Ranahad but you proved my hunch when you Shouted at Torvar.”

My hackles rose in a mix of fear and shock. “I . . . didn’t mean to Shout at him like that. I don’t even like that Shout to begin with.”

He shook his head. “You did what had to be done. He needed to be put out on his ass. You also carry yourself differently than the rest of us. There’s something . . . ancient in the gleam of your eyes.”

I blinked. “Oh. Thank you.” My mother had said something similar when I was a kit. That thought sent a gush of longing deep in my bones.

“You’re welcome.” Kodlak’s smile was the smile of a proud father. “And speak to Eorlund if you want a better weapon than . . . whatever those are.” He gestured to my axes and for a moment I felt a stab of hurt. I made my own stuff but I knew that Skyforge steel was magnificent.

There was a pause and I opened my mouth as a memory popped into my mind. “In my travels, I met a man named Arnbjorn. He was a werewolf and said he’d left the Companions. Why did he leave?”

Kodlak’s face fell and I felt like I was bringing up a bad point in Companion history. “Yes, Arnbjorn had been a Companion and a part of the Circle. But he was reckless and violent and the beast blood didn’t help that. He acted with extreme violence and we had to kick him out after he mauled someone that wasn’t supposed to die.”

I winced. It did sound like something Arnbjorn would do. “I don’t know if you know this but . . . Arnbjorn is dead.”

His face fell even more and I saw tears gather in his eyes. “Please tell me that he died with honor.”

I gave him a watery smile. “He died fighting to the last breath to protect his Family.” Even though the events of the destruction of the Brotherhood had happened almost two years ago, their deaths still hit me like a mound of mammoth shit to the heart.

“That’s good.” I had no doubt in that moment that Kodlak was Arnbjorn’s father. They had the same silver-white hair and fierceness that made a force a to be reckoned with on the battlefield. I rubbed my eyes and Kodlak placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Go and rest. You can visit Eorlund in the morning.”

“Of course.” I stood and nodded to Kodlak. “Goodnight, Harbinger.”

When I got to the whelp quarters, I collapsed on the nearest bed, tired both from the nasty weather and the conversation we’d had. Tears formed in my eyes and I buried my face in the pillow. Oh, if only I’d been smarter and not fallen for Astrid’s trap! I should’ve known that it had been too good to be true from the beginning. And now because of it, so many people I treasured and called brothers and sisters were dead.

If I couldn’t even protect my Family, how the hell could I protect my Shield-Brothers and Shield-Sisters?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are with another installment of Ranahad's adventure. She was really talkative this chapter and I just let her vent. Inigo understands and always has things to add.
> 
> Apologies for the slow update. My new job has taken up a lot of my time but hopefully once the high season begins, things will be a lot less crazy. 
> 
> Anyways, leave kudos or a comment if you've enjoyed.


	9. The (Not-So) Hidden Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranahad is moving up the ranks . . . but is it worth it?

If the other Companions caught me sobbing into my pillow, they said nothing the next morning as I entered the mead hall for a quick bite of breakfast. I munched on one of Tilma’s amazing sweetrolls as I ascended the stairs to the Skyforge. The storm had abated finally but flakes still floated down aimlessly. Only a hardened smith could work in such conditions.

“Ah, Ranahad!” Eorlund greeted me as I approached the massive forge. “What brings you to my lowly forge?”

I chuckled. “I was told you would have a weapon for me.”

He smirked. “Yes, lass, you've been raised into the Companions, I hear. I can forge whatever kind of weapon you want. Finest forge in Skyrim, right here before you.”

My tail swished aimlessly as I decided. “I’d like a dagger.”

“Ah, the sneaky type, eh? Figures. I think we can fix you right up.” I knew that a dagger didn’t take up much time so I leaned against the ledge next to the forge, its heat staving off the chill.

I watched with fascination as Eorlund worked. I had little right to call myself a proper smith; I just fiddled around with different techniques until I found something that was both durable and light.

“You smith?” he asked, glancing up from his work.

I shrugged. “I just find what doesn’t shatter when I work with it.”

“I see you’ve got some nice malachite blades.” He gestured to where they hung on my hips. “You know that’s a dangerous metal to work with, right?”

I laughed. “Every damn smith in Skyrim likes to remind me.”

The old man replied with a grin of his own. The ingot he’d been preparing was almost melted down and it glowed bright red. “I applaud your bravery, lass. Many shy away from that metal.”

We talked a bit more as he laid the hot steel out on the anvil and began to pound it into shape. Steel daggers were quite easy to form, as its blade was straight and relatively uncomplicated. I brought up my idea of using dragon bones and scales for weapons and armor and he looked quite shocked at my idea.

“How would you even mold it?” he asked. “I don’t think it would ever heat up like metal.”

I shrugged. “Perhaps you just have to work with the natural curve of the bone.” Ribs would make good scimitars and the claws could be good daggers. And even the femur could be the head of a massive warhammer. 

“Steel is fine with me,” Eorlund said. He was almost done shaping the dagger and I watched as he placed it in the bucket of water. The once red metal cooled and when he pulled it out, it was a dull silver.

“Have you heard of daedric weapons?” I said. Eorlund raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he began etching designs on the still-soft guard of the dagger. “Apparently you cool them in the blood of a daedra.”

The smith shook his head as he went over to the grindstone to sharpen the dagger. “Too damn complicated.”

I shrugged. I’d been dying to try daedric smithing for years but it was hard to gather enough blood to fill even the smallest thimble. Sparks flew as he made a few minor adjustments and despite the cold weather, it was incredibly homey. He tested the blade on a strap of leather; it went right through. He then wrapped the handle in buttery leather before handing it to me. For a moment, I saw genuine pride in his eyes.

“Here ya go, lass. Go stab something for me, okay?” The warm dagger in my hand felt almost weightless.

“Thank you, Eorlund.” I nodded and after a pause, walked back down to the porch of Jorrvaskr. There were a few Companions enjoying the snow and I smiled at their eager shrieks as they made patterns in the white powder and threw snowballs at each other.

“C’mon, Ranahad, join us!” Njada cried from a snowbank.

I bit back a chuckle. “Maybe next time.” _Maybe never_. I sat down at one of the tables and Athis glanced at me, his face hidden by the thick hood he’d pulled up to fight the cold. At least I wasn’t the only miserable one here in Skyrim.

Eventually the wind became too much and I headed inside, the fire burning in the middle of the hall warming my bones. I would live next to this fire forever if I had the choice. Making my way to the closest seat to the fire, I sat down with a long put-out sigh.

A hand on my shoulder brought me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Skjor smiling down at me.

Skjor.

_Smiling_.

Something had to be up.

“Yes?” I asked, unease unfurling in my belly.

“Vilkas just told me you were back. I have something special for you. But it's not for everyone to hear.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Meet me in the Underforge tonight. We will speak more.”

I frowned. What the hell was the Underforge? When I opened my mouth to ask where it was, his hand on my shoulder tightened impenetrably. “Beneath the Skyforge. The door is hidden but I’ll show you the way.”

Oh. _Oh._

So _that_ was the false door.

“All right,” I said.

Skjor nodded and grabbed a bottle of mead before heading out to enjoy the hellish weather, leaving me to contemplate his words. What were the Companions planning? And why did my stomach twist so uncomfortably?

* * *

 

The day passed achingly slow and my thoughts were consumed by what ifs that grew in their absurdity. For all I knew, the ruling faction of the Companions worshiped a petrified dragon penis that was the source of their lycanthropy.

Hey, weirder things have happened. Comes with the territory, I guess.

I made a point to head to the whelp’s quarters when it was late enough but I didn’t even try to sleep. As the others snored and talked in their sleep, I stared at the ceiling and tried to calm my racing heart. I couldn’t help but feel that somehow, whatever came next would change my life forever.

I heard footsteps approaching from the Circle’s rooms and sat up just as Skjor leaned against the doorframe. “Are you prepared, Ranahad?”

I stood and cracked my neck. It was better to get it out of the way. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He led me up the stairs, footsteps clanking despite him taking precautions to be sneaky. Perhaps a lesson on sneaking was in order for the Companions. I followed at a distance, tail swaying slightly.

The mead hall was empty, which was strange even this late at night. I opened my mouth to ask what was about to happen but Skjor managed to respond even before I had the right question on my tongue. “Here's all you need to know. Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Whiterun. The Skyforge was here long before it was. And the Underforge taps an ancient magic that is older than men or elves. We bring you here to make you stronger, new blood. Now, let's move.”

A part of me wanted to reply sarcastically but somehow I managed to keep my mouth shut. We proceeded outside, the wind whipping the top layer of snow around listlessly. I burrowed my nose into the collar of my cloak and not for the first time, I envied the Nords and their seeming imperviousness of the cold. That could’ve come in handy.

Skjor walked to the “hidden” door which was really obvious if you set a foot inside a burial tomb at least once. He glanced at me, a question in his eyes, but he said nothing as he touched the door and it pulled away with the harsh sound of stone grinding against stone.

First the Thieves Guild’s rusty door and now the Underforge. Why were secret doors somehow the loudest?

“Come,” Skjor ordered and I followed obediently. So far, everything seemed normal. The stone was rounded in a way that spoke of it being created naturally and not by mortal hands. The cavern plunged into near-darkness as the door swung shut behind me but there was no mistaking the large stone basin and the werewolf behind it.

Skjor stopped beside the stone altar and turned to me. “I'm glad you came. It's been a long time since we’ve had a heart like yours in our numbers. That pitiful ceremony behind the hall does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honor than some calls and feasting.”

I said nothing, unease still stirring in my belly. Something about the wording he used didn’t sit right with me. The werewolf whined quietly and I noticed its red fur and bright green eyes. It was slimmer than other werewolves I’d encountered, which were predominantly big and bulky. Things clicked then and I realized that the werewolf in front of me was Aela.

“I would hope you recognize Aela, even in this form. She’s agreed to be your forebear.”

Oh. So it was some sort of initiation into the Circle? Figures.

Skjor continued despite my silence, voice taking on a fervent tone. “We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we’ve been granted. He thinks we’ve been cursed. But we’ve been blessed. How could something that gives this type of prowess be a curse? So we take matters into our own hands.”

He paused, finally noticing my silence. “Are you awake, lass?”

I hissed. “Yes. Just trying to process all of this.”

“To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf. Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, friend?”

I bit my tongue to stop the remark that I already had a foot or two in the beast world. But his words weren’t lost on me. The Circle was a pack of werewolves and they wanted me to be a part of them. A good part of me fawned at the thought that I was being recognized for doing a lot of things I usually did. But the more cynical part of me whispered that there was something off about forcing people to change themselves into a thing many thought unnatural.

A nervous chuckle bubbled from my throat as the enormity of the situation finally fell upon me. They wanted me—the sadistic Khajiit Dragonborn that hurt everything she touched—as part of the Circle? It boggled my mind that people might actually want me in a visible position of power. Not that I was balking at the position of power (I wasn’t the Listener or the Guildmaster because I shied away from power) but the Companions had a much different creed than the other groups I’d cavorted with.

Damage control was in my near future.

I gulped. “It there a way to, uh, join the Circle and not take the blood?”

Skjor sighed. “That is your choice. We will not force you. But to join the Circle, your blood must be as ours.”

Well, didn’t that sound like an ultimatum?

I sighed. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly excited to become a werewolf but, hey, if there was no other way of going forward I might as well go through. Hell, it might make a good story to tell Lydia.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Skjor looked skeptical but he didn’t press further. I watched with a sickening fascination as he slid out a dagger and grabbed Aela’s arm, slashing it at her wrist. He turned it into the bowl and the blood dripped wetly against the stone.

“Drink,” Skjor murmured as Aela whined again, ears folding against her skull in obvious worry. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and talk myself into this decision. Thinking that there was no time like the present, I lowered my face to lap at the blood in the basin. The warm heat of it brought back memories of a body at a debauched altar, of how I’d bit into the naïve priest’s yielding flesh and felt no shame.

But there was a sudden surge of ice that made me stumble back and gag. It hurt, hurt almost as much as the time that Mercer had stabbed my paralyzed heart. My bones suddenly ached, almost as if I were a young kit again and nearing my first growth spurt. Distantly, I could the sounds of flesh tearing clean off the bone.

Flesh, I realized in a daze, that was my own.

The world grew hazy around me and I fell onto hands and knees. Colors faded away and smells became even sharper. I could smell the damp stone walls, the sweat beading on Skjor’s forehead, the sweetness of thick fur. The sound of frantic heartbeats flooded my ears, fast and erratic. There was a sharp burst of acrid fear and I tilted my head. As I looked up and out of my new packmates, I realized that the fear was coming from them and they were afraid of _me_.

I let out a triumphant howl and ran.

* * *

 

Light streamed down through the trees, sending dancing patterns of yellow and orange across my eyelids. I groaned as I awoke, feeling completely out of sorts. My head pounded something fierce and for a panicked moment, I worried that I’d actually taken Sanguine’s offer to attend another one of his parties.

“What the ever living fuck happened to me?” I groaned, rubbing a hand over my eyes. My head felt like it was full of cotton and my fur crackled with frost. Where the hell was I?

The sound of something thunking down beside me startled me half out of my fur and I jumped back on pure instinct. As I came down, my back collided with a fallen tree.

I heard a chuckle and looked up in surprise. Aela leaned against a tree, smirking. The thing that had spooked me was her dropping a pack. My pack, if the familiar glow of the Dawnbreaker’s hilt was to be believed.

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to think you might never come back.” Aela nudged the pack closer to me and I grabbed it hesitantly. The last few hours were a blur and I had only the vaguest memories of what had gone on. There was a lot of running, and the dying screams of a doe.

“Yours was not an easy transformation, but you're still alive. Congratulations.” Aela’s smile was wry but there was a hint of pride behind it. “We even have a celebration planned for you.”

I sat up and pulled the pack towards me, digging through it blindly. “A celebration, huh? Who are we gonna kill?” Everything seemed to be there, albeit in the wrong places. It seemed as if they’d hurriedly packed it after I’d fled. A gust of wind shifted through the trees and I shivered. Why the hell was it so cold?

And then I looked down. The clothes that I’d been wearing prior to my transformation didn’t make it and now I was naked as the day I was born. My fingers touched the familiar leather of my armor and I quickly yanked it out. I grimaced at the thought of not wearing any smallclothes underneath, but I had gone through and worn worse. The first set of armor I’d ever worn in Skyrim had been pilfered off a human and I’d had to cut through layers of boiled leather to make a hole for my tail.

Aela continued as I squeezed myself into my armor, latching buckles and fastening strings unconsciously. “There’s a pack of werewolf hunters camped nearby, at Gallows Rock. The Silver Hand. I think you’ve met them before. We’re going to slaughter them. All of them.”

The thought of carnage made my mouth water. Well, that was new. I secured my axes on my hips, slung my bow across my back and shouldered my pack. “Damn, that’s ambitious. Okay, where to?”

Aela gestured to a ridge to my right. “Just past there. Skjor’s gone ahead.”

I frowned but said nothing. He was more of a behind-the-shield-wall sort of warrior and it was uncharacteristic for him to go off on his own. Aela straightened up and began walking and I quickly walked to her side. That was a thing I enjoyed about the Companions—everyone was equal.

We continued to Gallows Rock in silence. I wanted to ask what the hell I was going to do now but Aela’s determined grimace made me put that train of thought on the coals. We followed the road until it cut through our destination. It was a familiar sight, a run-down fort with bandits patrolling the walls. The thing that set them apart from the usual bandits was the fact that their sentries actually seemed to be taking their jobs seriously.

I crouched low and pulled out my bow. Aela did the same, eyes dim. There were five sentries on the walls and two on the ground. There didn’t seem to be any sort carnage or pools of blood that told that Skjor had been here before us. That didn’t bode well.

Taking a deep breath, I nocked an arrow and pulled the bowstring taut. As I let the breath out, I let go. The sentry who had paused to scratch his ass found himself with an arrow buried deep in his chest. He collapsed on the stones with a clatter but the others didn’t seem to hear over the howling wind.

Huh, maybe the Silver Hand was just a group of bandits after all.

Aela pulled back her bow and another sentry fell. I nodded in appreciation; she used a polished hunting bow and iron arrows but she handled them well. We picked off the sentries that we could get with our bows but a few remained on the ground and they knew what was going on.

“Good luck, sister,” Aela whispered as we both shouldered our bows and took out our weapons, Skyforge broadsword and malachite axes respectively.

“Yeah, something like that,” I replied and ran from the thicket to the courtyard with a snarl. Distantly, I heard Aela follow with a piercing bellow, but my ears were swimming in the sound of my heartbeat. The remaining bandits in the courtyard advanced and I relished the sudden frenzy, blood spraying across my fur as Aela fought at my back.

The last Silver Hand fell to the ground, his cranium split open like a rotten berry. I spat on the ground and leered at the carnage.

“Sister, calm yourself!” Aela snapped, her gauntlet-covered hand squeezing my shoulder. It grounded me, and I shook my head. Some strange part of me whined in annoyance as we made our way into the fort. It was incredibly familiar—crumbling rock walls and furniture cobbled together with twine. But there was a pervasive smell of blood that seemed to cling to the stone walls. Werewolf blood.

Aela’s lip curled at the scent. “Look at this. Cowards must have locked the place down after Skjor charged in. You can taste the fear.”

It was also incredibly dark, so I grabbed a torch from the nearest sconce. I took a few steps forward and was suddenly staring at the dead eyes of a werewolf. A _very dead_ werewolf. It had obviously been there a while, if the exposed skull had anything to say about it.

“Eugh,” I groaned. The door was barred by spears and the only way to release them was a chain behind the werewolf head. I reached behind it and pulled the chain, making sure that I didn’t touch that perverse trophy. The spears retreated with a hiss and I placed the torch on the ground to keep the element of surprise.

Down the stairs was a large area cluttered with random things including an entire wagon upended. A fire crackled in the middle of the room, two Silver Hands huddled around it. Despite the flickering flame, they seemed more interested in shit-talking the Empire than actually keeping watch. I shook my head as I nocked an arrow.

Bandits were dumb, no matter why they were bandits.

The man on the right looked up just as the malachite arrow pierced his neck. His companion jumped up and readied his weapon before he fell to the ground with an arrow in his eye.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” I muttered. After so many years, I’d learned to trust my gut. And currently, my gut was telling me something Bad was going to happen.

Aela said nothing, but her grimace revealed she felt the same. I stalked forwards to the door on the right. It didn’t budge. Knowing these sorts of ruins, that was going to be our exit. Aela opened the other door on the far end of the room. She gestured to me and I took up the front position as we continued on.

The corridor continued for a little while and then it turned again. There was a door ajar and I nudged it open with my bow. The smell of gore and piss rushed out in a warm wave. The lone torch in the chamber painted the room in twitchy after-images. There was a werewolf stretched over a rack, its abdomen an absolute mess of viscera.

Behind me, Aela growled. “There’s a dead one, isn’t there?”

My ears folded back. “Yeah. Definitely dead.”

She shook her head. “Thought so. Nobody we know, by the smell.” She shrugged. “Some can't separate the animal from themselves, go feral. This poor sod could have been anyone. We should keep moving.”

I didn’t disagree with her and slowly backed out of the room. Feral werewolves were no laughing matter. There was another set of stairs going up and right at the end, there was a strange stone that stuck up from the rest of the floor.

“They’re not skimping on security,” I said. “Watch out for the pressure plate at the top of the stairs.”

Aela nodded and gently stepped over it. If only Lydia could be that smart and not step on every single pressure plate known to mankind. There was another open area at the top of the stairs, filled with a random assortment of random things strewn over overturned bookshelves.

We dispatched the bandits loitering against the far wall with little fanfare. I’d expected to be able to see Skjor’s path of destruction, but I hadn’t even seen a single Silver Hand splattered against the wall. And the bandits were way too relaxed to have just battled a honed warrior like Skjor.

“We’re getting close now, be careful.” Aela grabbed my shoulder, fear sparking in her eyes. “Their leader is a tricky one. They call him “The Skinner”. I don't think I need to tell you why.”

I gulped. The smell of tanned hides was overpowering. “Yeah.” Skjor had to be here, which didn’t bode well.

Who knew, maybe one of the pelts was his.

The man working the rack in the middle stood suddenly and my breath caught. He wore a dark black mantle across his shoulders and when he turned to us, the whitened teeth of some poor werewolf glinted above his eyes.

“I was wondering when you’d come to avenge your packmate,” Krev the Skinner said with a leer. “You should’ve seen it. How he fought us the entire time, nail and tooth.”

I brought my axes up while Aela readied her sword. “You’re disgusting!” Aela growled. Her silver eyes glowed in the firelight.

“I’m the disgusting one?” Krev let out a guttural laugh. “You’re the one who disgraced yourself by becoming an abomination.”

I hissed, the blood burning like liquid fire in my veins. “We can discuss what’s right and wrong later, hmm?”

Krev’s beady eyes turned to me. “And what does the cat think it knows about anything? Didn’t you know your kind isn’t wanted here?”

“Yeah, like every time I step outside.” I twirled my axes and the bandits on the edges of the room shrunk back in fear. “I won’t say this again. Leave now and these axes might not meet your neck.” Knowing the Silver Hand, they’d defend to the death.

Well. At least I tried.

“Who are you to threaten me, cat?” He readied his own axe and I smirked. Oh, there was going to be nothing left of him that even resembled a human being once I was done with him.

“Oh, maybe the Dragonborn,” Aela said and nodded to me. I turned to the bandit closest to me and opened my maw, the Words roiling in my throat. I hadn’t even thought which one to use, it was just poised on my tongue.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_

The bandit’s eyes widened as the ball of force rocketed towards her and her mouth opened in a scream as she flew through the air. She met the stone wall with a sickening crunch and slumped down, eyes blank and crumpled unnaturally.

That seemed to have broken the others out of their stupor and they rushed us, silver weapons at the ready. I hissed and snarled as they attempted to raze us down.

Emphasis on _attempt_.

I kicked a headless corpse away from me. The rush of battle was exhilarating. I looked around and saw Krev reloading a crossbow. Adjusting my grip on my axes, I turned and sprinted towards him. There was a small chance that I would fall on my ass but in the middle of battle, your ability to make rational decisions tended to fly out the window.

I leapt off the ground just as he pulled the trigger, the bolt aimed for my gut wedged itself in the meat of my thigh. Pain flared throughout my body, but I pushed it aside as I continued to fly forwards. My axes found purchase in Krev’s chest, leather and bone crumpling under the pressure. His legs gave out and I fell with him, crouching over his body. My leg screamed in pain but it seemed distant, unimportant.

The axes were dug in deep and I had to work them out of Krev’s mangled chest. Blood dribbled from his mouth and his eyes met mine. Even at the threshold of death, Krev still had the fucking audacity to look smug.

“You’re scum. You’re abominations of nature. You’ll never feast in Sovnga—”

“Well, good thing I’m not a Nord,” I said and brought my axes down again. Krev fell limp as the axes dug deep enough to sever his spine. I stood shakily and glanced around the room. Aela was crouched in the back of the room

“Aela?” I asked as I limped towards her. My breath caught in my throat as I approached. “Where’s Skjor?” As soon as I said it, I knew the answer.

I took a few steps closer and the shape behind Aela took form. Steel armor with dark fur embellishments, a Skyforge sword dripping with blood, a broken and bruised body that had felt nothing but pain until the last breath. Two eyes—one blind, one unseeing gray—stared out at nothing.

The Circle was now down one member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! I'm so sorry for the delay. Life is crazy and for a while, I couldn't move forward with the plot. But now after looking at it with fresh eyes and fixing it up, Ranahad's story continues. 
> 
> Again, sorry for the apparent abandonment. If you liked this, leave a kudo or a comment.


	10. Growling Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A werewolf, a Khajiit, and the Dragonborn walk into an inn. The innkeeper says, "Hello, Ranahad! What can I get you?"

Aela’s broadsword clattered to the ground, tears running down her face. “The bastards . . .”

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, to apologize for getting involved. Gods, this always happened when I got close to people. That’s something the bards never talk about—for as much as the Dragonborn is a hero, she brings destruction to those she loves.

Aela turned to me then. Her eyes were glassy with pain and she let out a bubbling laugh. “He is— _was_ one of the strongest we had, but numbers can overwhelm. He should not have come without a Shield-Brother.”

I opened my mouth and somehow, words came out. “I—I’m sorry. Is there anything I can—?”

“Get out!” Aela snarled and I was compelled to listen, head bowed like a chastised child. I wanted nothing more than to rifle through the chest in the corner of the room and scrub my fur clean in the nearest stream. But Aela was in pain and I couldn’t leave her like that.

“What are we going to do now?”

“ _You_ are going to go back to Whiterun.” Aela stood, wiped her eyes. “I’m going to check the bodies, see if there's any information they left behind.”

I tossed my head at the chest. “Check over there.”

She nodded and I stood in a circle of carnage, finally comprehending what had just happened. I was a member of the Circle now. I was a _werewolf_. I didn’t feel much different, except for a strange presence lodged somewhere in my gut.

I must have idled too long because Aela gave me a sharp look and I quickly limped around the dead bodies to a door on the right side of the room. It was a small corridor leading to barred door. I lifted the bar and it opened to the large open area near the entrance.

The sun shone weakly from under a haze of clouds and glinted off the snow. I limped towards the main road, or at least where the snow was the most trampled. There was no way I was going to be able to get to Whiterun in this condition. I had no horse to speed up the process—

Oh wait, I did.

I loved Arvak but he was a really dumb horse. A lot of it probably chalked up to him not realizing he was dead. In that empty purple cranium, Arvak believed he was a real horse and not just bone and flashy lavender fire. He acted like he’d never been to the Soul Cairn in the first place, which always failed. Water ran out his neck, grass passed through his jaw. The only horse that didn’t bolt on sight from him was Shadowmere. Perhaps I was abetting the pony’s delusions, but he wasn’t doing any harm.

As soon as I summoned him from the Soul Cairn, Arvak bucked happily, sending wild shadows across the trees. Once he was relatively calm, I approached him. “Hey, Arvak. It’s good to see you.”

He made a chittering sound like the scraping of old bones and butted my chest with his nose. Normally, it would be fine but Arvak was a literal skeleton and I was nursing gods know how many bruises. I hissed in pain and Arvak’s head snapped up. Even without eyeballs, he conveyed a look of worry.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I need to get to Whiterun. D’you think you can do that, buddy?”

He stamped the ground a few times but kept still as I mounted him, wriggling into the least uncomfortable spot on his back. Man, I really needed to make some sort of saddle for him. Sitting on his spine got uncomfortable very quickly.

Arvak seemed to notice my discomfort and walked slowly down the main road. It would be after sunset when I would return to Whiterun, so I rummaged through my pack and downed whatever kind of healing potions I could get my hands on, grimacing as I felt one of my ribs pop back into the proper place. The wound on my leg still hurt like a bitch and only healed partially when I dumped the strongest potion onto it. Even my (albeit limited) healing spells did nothing to fix it. The bleeding had stopped, fortunately, but it burned like someone had poured Firebrand directly into the wound. There was nothing more I could do, so I wrapped up and hoped Danica knew what was going on.

I may have drifted off for a while because before I knew it, the walls of Whiterun rose out of the plains. Arvak tossed his head as we passed the stables, as if he were expecting me to stop there. I patted his neck and he stopped.

I needed to get off his back but even moving seemed like a chore. The wound in my leg was a constant blinding pain. I imagined throwing my leg over Arvak’s back and jumping down like I’d done a million times but my body simply wouldn’t cooperate. The world blurred around me and the ground was suddenly a lot closer. Arms wrapped around me before my ass could meet the trampled snow and my hands pressed up against the cold metal of someone’s breastplate.

“Ranahad!” a voice cried. It was incredibly close. “Are you okay?”

I blinked the black spots out of my eyes and looked up to see Vilkas. His bright eyes were wide, and I wondered if they were actually silver or just pale blue. “Oh, hi,” I said weakly.

“Your horse disappeared underneath you,” Vilkas said. “Is that normal?”

I nodded. His large hands were warm on my back and I bit back a purr. “Arvak’s dumb.”

“Whatever you say.” The small smile that was forming on his face suddenly disappeared. I felt a pang of disappointment; it was a really nice smile. “Ranahad, are you okay?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Got hit with a crossbow and it hurts like a bitch.”

Vilkas frowned. “You got hit with a _crossbow_? And you’re still awake?” Man, he was full of questions.

“I’m the Dragonborn! I heal real fuckin’ fast.” I swayed and if it weren’t for Vilkas’s grip on me, I would’ve faceplanted into horse shit or something.

“Something’s not right. Ranahad, where did you come from?”

“Uh, Gallows Rock.” I cocked my head. “Why d’you wanna know? It’s super-secret stuff.”

His eyes widened, and the world tilted on its axis as he swept me up in his arms. It felt amazing and the purr I’d been holding back started up. His heartbeat was rabbit-quick under my ear and I pressed myself closer to hear it.

Vilkas said a few things to someone but the pain arcing through my body made it hard to focus on anything. The light changed and I burrowed my face in Vilkas’s chest, the spicy scent of him deep in my nose. His chest resonated with his deep voice. “Yes, she took a crossbow bolt to the leg. And I think she’s feverish.”

“Set her down here, Vilkas,” another voice said.

I may have mewled pitifully when Vilkas set me down. The pain was all-encompassing and for a few frantic moments, I was convinced I was going to die. Now wouldn’t that be a story—the Dragonborn of legend brought down by one measly crossbow bolt.

I reached for Vilkas, searching for his presence. He wasn’t just going to leave me . . . wherever I was, right? A calloused hand smoothed down my mane and I smiled faintly. Mint and pine swirled around me, and then the darkness enveloped me into blessed nothingness.

* * *

 

It took four days for the fever to break but I was stuck in the Temple of Kynareth for almost two weeks. Danica had admonished me when I was finally lucid, repeating over and over that I was lucky to be alive. The crossbow bolt had almost snapped my leg in two but it had stopped before it got that deep. The potions and restoration magic had helped but now came the slow process of healing.

I think we both knew why I’d gotten so sick after a wound that would simply hinder me for a few days. The bolt had been tipped in silver and for some reason, it worked just as well on werewolves as it did the undead. Gladly, Danica made no mention of my new status as a werewolf. She simply handed me teas and tonics with a small reproachful look and continued on with her duties. I had to stay immobile as the wound healed, which was hell. I’d tried to persuade Danica to let me recuperate at Breezehome but she was adamant that I stayed at the Temple.

A pair of small hands prodding at my ears brought me out of my thoughts. Bubba had become my bedside companion after he’d followed Lydia when I first got back.

“Are you bored?” Bubba grunted. “Yeah, me too.”

He moved from my ears to my mane, squealing whenever his hands caught on a snarl. It wasn’t exactly pleasant but if he was distracted, it would mean he was less of a kleptomaniac for a little while. The acolyte—whatever his name was; Jensen maybe?—was the main target of Bubba’s current antics.

“Rana, Rana,” Bubba gurgled. It was becoming evident that Bubba was picking up words and trying to use them himself. Most assumed rieklings were incredibly dumb but they had their own language and managed to work together to overpower much larger predators. I’d once seen a battalion of rieklings overpower a frost troll and when they were done with it, all that was left were the troll’s intestines.

Solstheim was such a strange place.

Time seemed to pass differently in the Temple and it was wreaking havoc on my sleeping patterns. Even though the lights dimmed slightly at night, I tossed and turned until I collapsed. Even when I was able to fall asleep, it was light and full of strange dreams. Eventually, Danica let me move around a bit, but I was still restricted to the temple.

I sat heavily next to the ornamental pool, stretching my injured leg out. Kenarthi was never a deity I was close to, so maybe there was some meaning behind it. Or maybe it was just there to help the ambiance.

I leaned over and stared at my reflection. I’d thought I would look different after taking the blood, but to my genuine surprise, nothing had changed drastically. The reflected gold eyes were the same, not silver like the other Circle members. Maybe there were more shadows under my eyes, but it was hard to see underneath the markings. I yawned widely, tongue curling, and smacked my lips together.

Appearance aside, the most evident thing I could feel was some sort of presence wedged inside my chest. It was sort of like the voice but omnipresent and on alert. I placed my hand on my breastbone, feeling the presence perk its head up curiously. It was strong and tenacious, but not incredibly smart.

The presence whined plaintively and then I understood. This new development was because I was a werewolf now. It felt odd, but maybe that was because I had only transformed once. Perhaps once Danica gave me a clean bill of health I could head out to the plains or maybe the marshes near Morthal; nobody ever went there to begin with.  

Eventually the wound in my leg healed and Danica let me leave—fucking _finally_ —but not before admonishing me to stay safe and to head back to the temple if it reopened. I had a nice new scar to add to my collection, a pale sunburst in the middle of my thigh.

It became evident that deep sleep was a thing of the past. The smallest sound would wake me, if I slept at all. How the others could even sleep at Jorrvaskr, I had no goddamn clue. It was always so loud, the sounds of over a dozen people living under one roof.

Even when I didn’t overnight at the mead hall, I still slept poorly. I’d never known how loudly Lydia snored or how Bubba muttered curse words in his sleep. I hadn’t taken a job since Gallows Rock but I was dreading sleeping in the wilds.

I needed to take a job, however. After sitting on my ass for almost a month, I was restless to get out and explore. I chalked it up to being Dragonborn; I could never settle down completely. If a dragon landed in Whiterun, I’d be the first to gouge its heart out with my claws.

“Do you have any work for me?” I asked Vilkas one morning. I remembered how he’d helped me when I was hurt, and it sent my heart twisting in my chest.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” he asked.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Danica gave me her seal of approval, it’s all healed.” My lips split into a grin. “Wanna see my scar?”

Vilkas’s cheeks reddened. “Uh . . . just wanted to make sure you’re okay. After everything that’s . . . happened.”

Oh. So he was worried that I’d transform into a werewolf. “If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you come with?”

His throat clicked on a swallow. “But I thought you worked the best by yourself.”

Historically, yes. But Lydia had trailed alongside me for over a year and I hadn’t managed to Shout her off a cliff. And Serana hadn’t complained too much (oh who was I kidding, all she did was complain). “I can make an exception for you, Vilkas.”

“Well if you’re so adamant . . .” His face split into a cheeky grin. “I have a job that’s right up your alley.”

My ears perked up. “Tell me.”

“There’s a dragon at Autumnwatch Tower. The Jarl wants it gone. Permanently.”

“Okay, I can see why you want me for this job.” Without a Dragonborn to absorb its soul, a dragon would just keep coming back to life like a giant fire-breathing cockroach. I hadn’t been to Autumnwatch despite it being on my list of possible Word Walls, which—yay! Free Words!

“So you’ll take the job?” Vilkas asked.

“Only if you come with me,” I said with a smirk.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’ve got to grab my things, so I’ll meet you at the stables, yeah?”

“Just don’t use Arvak this time.”

I barked out a laugh as I opened the large doors. Despite the snow that reflected the sunlight in harsh fractals, I was warmer than I had felt in months. Who knew that a bit of banter with an alluring Nord could be the thing that lifted my spirits?

Bubba pranced between my legs as I readied everything I needed for the trek to the Rift. I loved Whiterun dearly but there was something freeing about the winds that teased of warmer weather. That, and there was generally less snow in the Rift which was always good.

I scrawled a quick note to Lydia— _job in the Rift. be back soon. your thane, Ranahad_ —and locked the door behind me, ignoring Bubba’s indignant squeals. Adrianne waved as I passed by and I made a mental note to sell her some of the junk I’d no doubt find on this excursion.

Vilkas was waiting at the stables, his horse already saddled. His gaze followed me as I retrieved Shadowmere’s saddle and began tacking him up. Gladly, he put up little resistance and we were on the road in record time.

We travelled in silence for a little while. “I hate to ask this but what happened to Skjor?” Vilkas finally asked. There was a slight wobble in his voice.

“He went into Gallows Rock alone,” I said. “They overpowered him.”

“Mmn.”

“What was the funeral like?” I asked. Although I had lived in Skyrim for a while, I’d never experienced a true Nord burial. Most of the dead I found were left to rot or resurrected by necromancers.

“Simple,” Vilkas replied. “He was laid in the Hall of the Dead and then we went to Jorrvaskr to feast in his honor.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Vilkas smiled, his gaze trained somewhere past the horizon. “It was. Still can’t stand the sight of mead.”

“Good thing I mostly drink wine,” I said. The only mead I actually enjoyed was the Blackbriar Reserve and that was only slightly passable.

The trip was uneventful for the most part—Valtheim was abandoned this winter and the giants were too preoccupied with their mammoths to attack us. The only thing that posed a threat was a bear that had blocked the way but when I Shouted at it, the thing scampered off into the woods.

“What’s that like?” Vilkas asked as we finally reached Ivarstead. “Shouting, I mean.”

I shrugged as I guided Shadowmere to the post in front of the inn. There was no way we’d be able to make the whole trip in a day in this weather, so Ivarstead was just a quick stop. “It’s just second nature to me. I just open my mouth and Shout.”

“Interesting,” Vilkas said as we entered the Vilemyr Inn. Despite the weather and the size of the town, the inn was crowded. Pilgrims were not affected by the weather it seemed. There was even a group of Nords in Stormcloak blue that glared at me as I walked passed. “Do you ever get them mixed up?”

“Sometimes.” I brushed the snow off my cloak and approached the counter where Wilhelm was already setting out two tankards and two bowls of stew. “Hello, Wilhelm! How are you?”

“Good, good,” he replied as he filled the tankards. “Winter’s pretty bad but spring’ll be here eventually.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said and took the tankards and bowls in each hand. The smell of watered mead and peasant stew of questionable meat was familiar, and I finally began to relax. I could act like city life was what I wanted for the end of my days, but I would never be truly happy. Adventure was out there, and I wanted to get my grubby little hands all over it.

During the exchange of coin, Vilkas had found a table near the fire. I smiled as I set down the meagre fare. “Eat up,” I said as I sat down across from Vilkas.

“Thank you, Ranahad,” he said, pulling the stew towards him. We ate in relative silence, enjoying the fresh food before we continued traveling. Once the bowls were empty, I wrapped my hands around the tankard, occasionally taking sips of mead.

“So, any tips for fighting dragons?” Vilkas asked, leaning close and cupping his face in one of his hands. There was genuine excitement in his eyes.

I shrugged. “Don’t stay in one place. Wait for me to down it and aim for the wings. And, uh, don’t freak out if it tries to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? They can speak the common tongue?”

“Well, all those gouts of fire and blasts of frost are just words in Dovahzul. A fight between two dragons is just like mortals having a shouting match.”

I could tell he had a thousand more questions, but a giant yawn broke his concentration. It wasn’t incredibly late, but we’d spent the majority of the day on horseback. My legs and ass were aching, and it would be another long day of riding tomorrow. “How about we get a room for the night?” I suggested.

Vilkas nodded. “Sure. Sounds fine to me.” I started to stand but Vilkas grasped my arm. “You paid for our meal, so I’ll pay for the room. Fair enough?”

I opened my mouth to protest but Vilkas’s determined look made me bite it back. “Alright.” I leaned back in my chair, tail lashing, and fumed silently. I had more than enough coin to pay for a room for a single night—hell, I probably had enough coin squirreled away to buy the entire town. What was it with his sudden bout of chivalry?

 I cooled down when Vilkas returned, a slight blush on his face. Oh, this couldn’t be good. “Well?” I asked.

“I got the room but, uh.” Vilkas’s cheeks bloomed even darker. “There’s only one bed.”

I blinked. “Oh . . .”

“I can buy another room if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, mistaking my hesitation as reluctance to share a room with him. Which wasn’t something I was protesting, oh not at all.

“I don’t mind sharing,” I said as I finished off the rest of the mead. “It’s strange, usually there’s a room with two beds.”

“It was already rented out,” Vilkas replied, motioning to the group of Stormcloaks who were starting to get rowdy. It was then that I noticed that the one in the middle wore a much nicer set of armor and there was no mistaking that gravel-rough voice.

“We shall drive out all the refugees and invaders in our homeland!” Galmar cried. “When Ulfric wins the war and forces the Empire out of our beautiful country, we shall purge it of elves and beasts and those who are not true Nords!”

I hunched in my seat and prayed that Galmar didn’t recognize me. From the very few times we’d interacted, he’d been curt and referred to me as ‘it’, if he spoke to me at all. I met Vilkas’s gaze across the table. “Shall we call it a night?” he asked quietly.

I nodded and we quietly got up from the table. To avoid detection, I put my cloak on and wrapped my tail around my waist. Gladly, the Stormcloaks were too wrapped up into listening to Galmar’s racist rhetoric to notice our retreat into the room. As soon as the door closed behind us, I leaned against the door.

“Is that what you have to deal with?” Vilkas asked as he set his pack on the lone chair in the room. It was sparsely furnished with one lone bed that could maybe fit both of us if we huddled close, a rickety chair and a dresser with a candle that was nearly burned to a stub.

I shrugged. “Galmar is the extreme case. Mostly it’s just people referring to me as ‘cat’ or refusing my coin.”

“That shouldn’t be okay,” he grumbled.

“I’ve learned that you have to pick your battles,” I said. I sat down on the bed, smoothing out the lumps in the straw mattress. The little incident with Galmar had distracted me from the problem at hand—we only had one bed to share for the night.

“So . . . how do you want to do this?”

Vilkas bit his lip. “I can sleep on the floor if you’d like.”

I shook my head. “No, there’s no need. If you keep your hands to yourself, that is.”

Vilkas’s blush was adorable. “O-of course.”

I stretched my arms over my head, yawning widely. It was hard to not notice the way Vilkas’s eyes burned brightly. I kept glancing out of the corner of my eye as I peeled myself out of my armor, leaving me in woolen breeches and a linen undershirt. It was more than I usually wore but now was not the time to tell him I usually slept in nothing but my fur.

I settled into the bed, scooting to the far end so that my back pressed up against the wall. Vilkas had yet to move from his spot next to the chair, his eyes lost somewhere in his mind. “You’re not going to sleep in your armor, are you?” I asked.

He shook his head and mumbled something. But my question spurred him into motion and he worked at the clasps and ties of his armor until he was down to woolen breeches. He awkwardly walked towards the bed.

“C’mon, your virtue’s safe with me,” I said with a smirk.

His blush spread down his chest, but he finally laid down. I’d spent a good deal of time with Vilkas despite our rocky beginning, but I’d never been this close. Our faces were inches apart and it was hard not to get lost in his eyes, bright as Secunda. His familiar scent of pine and mint swirled in the air between us and I was brought back to when I saw injured and how he’d comforted me. And damnit, I wanted to feel that again.

It was awkward to say the least. It felt like ages before we both found somewhat comfortable positions on the horribly cramped bed. Vilkas laid stiff as a board for quite a while in a position that looked incredibly uncomfortable. I flipped on my side and almost instinctively I scooted closer to Vilkas. I felt rather than heard his sharp intake of breath.

Just when I thought that nothing was going to happen, an arm wound its way around my waist while the other slid underneath the sole pillow. In the darkness, I smiled at the wall, warmth blooming in my chest.

The heat of his body and his arms around was just the right thing to lull me to sleep. But just before I did, I heard Vilkas whisper, his voice almost lost under the din of the inn.

“ _Talos help me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaack! And I've brought some Vilkas-heavy goodness. I swear, I was smiling stupidly as I wrote this chapter.
> 
> Anyways, leave some kudos or a comment if you enjoyed. And don't forget to stay hydrated, peeps!


	11. A Kick in the Snout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranahad and Vilkas battle a dragon and it is quite the bonding experience.

The things the bards never sang about was that Dragonborns had truly bizarre dreams. I’d asked Arngeir about it and apparently those with the born with dragon souls had prophetic dreams. Both Uriel and Martin Septim had prophetic dreams.

I dreamed of lives. Most of them were fellow Dragonborn but some of them were not. Some of them had long, heartfelt epics while some barely existed before fading into nothing. Each time I dreamed, these people were so familiar despite living completely different lives. There was one that was reoccurring frequently as of late, and I dreamed again of the orc and her companions.

~

_I made it to the summit long before the boys and I sat down on a flat rock to wait for them. As I wiped the sweat from my brow, their complaints filtered up to me. Most of it was cursing me and I smirked as they threated all sorts of imaginative deaths for me._

_Before long, they staggered their way up, panting and sweating and swearing up a storm. Legs shaking and hands sore from climbing, they made it to the summit and acted like they’d just barely escaped death. “Is the road not acceptable, dovahkiin?” Miraak asked, hands on his knees. Sweat dripped from the seams of his mask and not for the first time, I wanted to throw that stupid piece of ancient bronze down a mountain._

_“For once, I agree with the old man,” Inigo piped up from his position lying on the ground. For this reason, he missed Miraak’s murderous glare launched his way. I chuckled, and that glare was transferred to me. It lacked any real bite, however, and it made me laugh even more. If he’d had a mind to kill either of us, he’d have done it already and not spent nearly a year beside us. And he certainly wouldn’t be sneaking into my tent every other night if he just saw me as a means to an end._

_“When you get your breath back, we’re heading out. The cave should be nearby.” As detailed as my trusty map was, it did a piss-poor job of showing how to get to certain caves. Going downhill was much easier than going uphill, after all._

_“Ow, my poor legs,” Inigo said as he slowly got to his feet._

_“Get used to it!” I cried as I stood and shouldered my pack. “Now let’s get on the road. These vampires ain’t gonna kill themselves.”_

_“That depends on how hungry they are,” Miraak said as he assumed his place at my right side. Inigo took the remaining left and the familiarity of it made me relax. With these two beside me, I could conquer the world if I damn well pleased._

~

When I awoke, I was wrapped in warmth, both figuratively and literally. I’d turned towards Vilkas in my sleep and our arms and legs were wrapped together in a bizarre tangle that only existed in sleep. My tail wrapped around his thigh and my ears folded back at the intimacy of it all.

I slowly opened my eyes and my vision was full of Vilkas’s face. He was surprisingly serene asleep, the rage and burden gone for a little while. Farkas had said they were the youngest Companions to join the Circle at just nineteen and now I could see it. If Vilkas wiped off the war paint from his eyes and found something he enjoyed, he would be Skyrim’s resident heartthrob.  

The image was broken when Vilkas stirred awake, blinking sleepily. His eyes widened as he realized how close we were. Surprise flashed in his eyes for a moment but then he smiled. “Mornin’,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” I said.

Neither of us made any movement to get up or move apart. I lifted a hand to trace a scar on the meat of his shoulder, raised and rough under my fingers. “Was in the Reach when we got ambushed by the Forsworn. Somehow I managed to get away with just an arrow in my shoulder.”

In return, his fingers curled around my leg, palm flat against the crossbow scar. “Do you even scar?”

“Yes, of course. But having a thick coat of fur tends to hide pesky things like scars.” It was near impossible to find most scars; hell, sometimes I even forgot where scars were. Only time would tell if the fur would grow back.

His hand slid up to my hip. It felt incredibly good and a purr rumbled in my chest. I looked up at Vilkas and our eyes met. All at once I wanted to tell every secret I’d kept from the Companions, the fears I had as the Dragonborn. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and never let go. I wanted him to press his weight onto me, feel the drag of his cock inside me—

His fingers inched under my shirt and his hand was so large that his thumb brushed my stomach. The good mood vanished and all I wanted was him to get his hands _off_. Instinctively, my legs shot out to protect me and I kicked Vilkas. His eyes widened as my feet connected with his stomach and he fell out of the bed.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” I shot up and saw Vilkas staring up at the ceiling, the wind knocked out of him. “I didn’t mean to kick you!”

“Should’ve known,” he grumbled once he got his breath back. “Cats don’t like their bellies rubbed.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, being called a cat didn’t make me want to claw his eyes out. “Either way, I truly am sorry. Can I make it up to you with breakfast?”

“Fair enough,” Vilkas said. I held out a hand and he grasped it.

I quickly shrugged on my cuirass and opened the door. It apparently was still early, as the inn was fairly quiet, and Wilhelm was yawning into his tea. “Damn, I wish I could drink like those young lads,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“I bet,” I said, unamused. “What’s on the menu this fine morning?”

A few minutes later and twenty septims poorer, I carried two plates of eggs and cured ham back to our room. I really didn’t want to catch the eye of any of the Stormcloaks, so breakfast in bed it was. I knocked on the door with my elbow, ears searching for anything beyond the room.

Vilkas opened the door, again clad in the familiar steel armor the Companions were known for. Or rather, the Circle was known for. “I’ve got breakfast,” I said, holding up the plates.

“Good, I’m starving,” he groaned and opened the door to let me in. “Are the Stormcloaks up yet?”

“If the amount of alcohol they had was any guess, they won’t be up until midday at least.” I set one plate on the table and took one with me as I sat down on the bed.

“Then let’s eat and get out before they do anything rash.”

We ate our breakfast in silence, too hungry to comment on what had just happened. I watched the notch in his throat bob each time he swallowed.

“We should get going,” Vilkas said, breaking the silence that had settled around us like fresh snow.

I nodded in agreement and shouldered my pack. Now was not the time to fawn in the warmth in my chest whenever Vilkas was near. We had a dragon to kill. 

* * *

 

The ride out from Ivarstead was cheerful despite the cold wind that hinted at another storm on the horizon. There was a new warmth in my heart that hadn’t been there before. I patted Shadowmere on the neck and he tossed his head up in disapproval, as if the Listener giving him scritches behind his ears was a sign of weakness.

We continued on the road at a good pace despite the wind. The shadow of High Hrothgar followed us and for the first time in a while, I remembered what I needed to do. Somehow, I was supposed to trap a dragon in Dragonsreach and that dragon would lead me to Alduin. Finding a dragon was the easy part; convincing the Jarl would be the hard part. No doubt Jarl Balgruuf would balk at the idea of trapping a dragon in his palace. I loved the man—he was by far my favorite Jarl—but he was cautious to a fault.

“Why’d you do it?” Vilkas asked suddenly.

My ears perked up. The sounds of Alduin’s resonant voice faded back into my mind. “Why’d I do what?”

His gaze bore into me. “Join the Circle.”

I sighed. Now that I’d had time to think over my decision, I was starting to question why I’d done that. Honestly, why did I join? I didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, but there had been some nice guilt-tripping from Skjor.

“This is why we need to get rid of this! It’s not right.” I glanced at him and Vilkas was shaking in anger. I could almost hear the feral snarl in his throat. A part of me buckled under his ire and I looked away at the snow.

We continued riding down the road in a stony silence. A few miles down the road, a small path beaten into the snow appeared to the right and I turned Shadowmere towards it. “This way,” I said.

The path quickly went uphill and before long, our horses were stumbling over their hooves. Shadowmere might be immortal but Vilkas’s stallion wasn’t and I hated to see yet another horse die. I stopped and dismounted Shadowmere and gestured Vilkas to do the same. “Let’s continue on foot,” I said and led him off the path to a tree with low-hanging branches.

“Very well,” Vilkas replied. He dismounted his horse and led him to the same tree. “No doubt they’d get spooked at the sight of a dragon.”

I snorted. “I once had a horse that charged a dragon straight-on. It was enough of a distraction for me to kill the dragon. Someday they’ll tell the story of Sunny the Fearless, who gave her life to save the Dragonborn.”

Vilkas’s small smile made my heart flutter. It made him look so different than the hardened warrior he made himself out to be. I shook my head to rid myself of the distracting thoughts and continued up the hill. Before long, the trees thinned out and the multiple levels of Autumnwatch Tower jutted out of the mountainside. At the top sat a dragon perched on a Word Wall.

“Son of a bitch, it’s huge,” Vilkas murmured.

“Mmn, I’ve seen bigger,” I responded. All dragons looked tiny beside Alduin himself. And the guy currently guarding the Word Wall was small and littered with scars. He’d probably gotten fat from the poor Rift guards that tried their hand at felling a dragon.

There were towers and pathways that connected it to the Word Wall and I cautiously entered the nearest tower, an axe at the ready. Vilkas followed close behind, shield up and sword ready to raze down any unfortunate bandits that got in our way.

As I ascended the tower to the first level, I realized the caution was unnecessary. Curled up in a pathetic ball was a bandit who hadn’t survived the night. I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad. It was cold at night, especially during the winter and a linen cloak and a ratty sheepskin would do very little to stave off the cold.

Neither of us said anything as we made our way farther up and across a platform, closer to the dragon. It still sat perched on the wall, either asleep or staring intently at something on the ground. (Did dragons actually sleep? Parthunaax would know.) The bandits in the other two towers had also died from exposure, some of them days dead and others hours cold.

When we reached the final pathway, I crouched and pulled my bow off my back. I glanced back at Vilkas and saw that he had sheathed his sword and pulled out a crossbow out of his pack. That would be helpful; crossbows packed a punch and did good damage on dragons. “Remember, wait for me to down it and go for the wings and the eyes,” I whispered.

“Aye,” Vilkas replied.

I slowly inched my way across the pathway, never taking my eyes off the dragon. It finally moved, stretching its wings and yawning wide. So dragons did sleep, it seemed. I nocked an arrow and kept silent. The dragon swung its head around and the wind shifted, blowing our scent right towards it.

“At last,” the dragon said. “A worthy opponent.”

“You know why I’m here, then,” I said, stepping onto the pathway. Vilkas followed and I could feel the heat radiating off him.

“ _Geh_ , you mortals all want us dead. I will leave this place if you leave now.”

I shook my head. “No can do. You’ve got a taste for human flesh. Who’s to say you won’t just go around picking off travelers?”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed. “You are no different than _joore_ , _Dovahkiin_. You sully yourself believing you are like them.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t want to be a dragon.” I pulled back the bowstring and aimed at the dragon’s eye. “Any last words?”

The dragon’s maw opened wide and a gout of frost barreled towards us. I let the arrow go and bolted across the pathway to hide in the alcove of the Word Wall. The dragon took off, stirring up the snow and blinding me. I blinked and pressed my back against the Wall, listening intently for the sound of wings. The beating sound of the Word faded away as the dragon landed in front of me, stone cracking underneath its weight.

“Open your mouth and speak, _Dovahkiin_! Show me you are truly a dov.”

The fucker wouldn’t shut up, so I opened my mouth.

“ _KRII LUN AUS!_ ”

Purple waves flew from my mouth and enveloped the dragon, who yelped in pain. I’d never used the full Marked for Death and it even stopped dragons in their tracks. Huh. Good to know.

I let off a few arrows, hitting the dragon’s shoulder and shredding the thin membrane of its wings. I had lost Vilkas somewhere but there were a few bolts in the dragon’s legs and underbelly. As the dragon just shook itself off, I opened my mouth to Shout again but that familiar buzzing in my throat prevented me from bringing out the trump card.

Apparently this dragon was a loquacious sonuvabitch because he kept monologuing as I loosened arrow after arrow into its hide. “You are no match for Alduin, Dovahkiin. You cower and hide at even the smallest dragon. When you see the World Eater, you will no doubt run away in terror.”

“Well, we’ll see what happens when we get there.” The buzzing had stopped in my throat finally and I opened my mouth to ground it permanently. But just before I could, the dragon took to the air and circled the platform, and I snarled in frustration. If only there were a way to kill the dragon with one hit!

It circled around and dived in to swipe me with its back legs and I opened my mouth. “ _JOOR_ _ZAH FRUL!_ ” The dragon keened as its dive faltered and it landed hard on the platform, skidding across the stone.

“Any last words?” I asked as I shouldered my bow and pulled out my axes.

The dragon lifted its head and leered at me. “Fuck you.” A swearing dragon? Now that was a new one.

It was enough of a distraction that I saw the frost gathering in the dragon’s maw just as it came barreling at me. I attempted to roll and dodge, but the frost was too fast, and a penetrating cold surrounded me. I grit my teeth at the feeling and waited for the blood to start pumping through my veings again.

As soon as the chattering stopped, I looked up to where the dragon was struggling to stand, weakened by both Shouts. I shook my head and advanced at an angle so it would be harder for the dragon to aim.

I lifted my axes to deliver the killing blow but a familiar face beat me to the punch. I watched amazed as Vilkas jumped on the dragon’s back and ran up its neck. The dragon tossed it head to get rid of him but Vilkas grabbed the dragon’s frill and held on with an iron grip.

Just when I thought Vilkas was going to be catapulted into the peaks nearby, he reversed his sword grip and thrust his it into an old wound on the top of the dragon’s head. It made an unholy shriek and spasmed, hot blood spurting from the wound.

It wasn’t long until the dragon stopped moving and Vilkas jumped down to stand beside me. “Now I can say I’ve killed one of everything in Skyrim,” he said, smiling.

“But have you been to Morrowind?” I asked. As we watched, the dragon’s scales began to fizzle and catch fire. The dragon’s soul began to pour into me and I closed my eyes at the rush of power.

When it was done, I opened my eyes and met Vilkas’s gaze. His eyes were bright with an emotion I couldn’t parse but his wide smile was almost stupidly childish. He was in his element, hair tousled from the fight and covered in steaming blood. The wolf inside me yelped happily and I almost heard an answering yip from Vilkas.

The moment was broken when half of the dragon’s bleached skeleton skidded off the platform and dangled precariously over the edge. We both stared at in silence for a moment before breaking into laughter. Honestly, I think everyone would be glad to have the annoying dragon out of their lives for good.

Once we could breath properly, Vilkas looked out at the treetops. The sun was making a quick descent towards the horizon, despite it being barely past midday. That was one of the things I hated the most about winter—it got dark too damn early. “We should head out,” he said, turning to me. “If we’re lucky, we can outrun the storm.”

I smelled the wind and yup, there was definitely a storm on the way. “We have enough provisions to last a few days, so let’s book it to Whiterun.” I loved Ivarstead, I really did, but I didn’t feel like getting stuck there as the storm blew over.

The ride back was silent for the most part, both of us absorbed in our respective thoughts. As the road curved around the mountainside, I stole a glance at Vilkas. He’d scrubbed most of the blood off him with fresh snow but there were still flashes of red in the joints of his armor and the smell of blood wafted to me when the wind shifted.

Eventually the land leveled out and the lights of Whiterun glinted in the darkness. Despite its closeness, we decided to make camp on a rise a little ways away from the main road. It was astoundingly dark as we pitched our tents—both moons were mere slivers in the sky—and when the fire spluttered between us, it barely illuminated our camp.

“Thank you,” Vilkas said.

I looked up, meeting his eyes across the fire. “You’re welcome. Glad you enjoyed defeating a dragon.”

Both tired from the fight, we retired to our tents early. As I settled down in my bedroll, the memory of Vilkas’s warmth enveloping me and his armor drenched in the dragon’s blood lulled me to sleep. Just before I drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me that I wouldn’t mind falling for Vilkas.

And that thought fucking terrified me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The manuscript for "Of Cats and Dogs" hit 100 pages which I never thought I'd reach with a random two-page musing on a Khajiit Dragonborn. And to everyone that left kudos and comments and bookmarked this fic, thank you so much for your support. :)
> 
> I love Ranahad but she can be so emotionally constipated. Every time I try to write some fluff, it's two steps forwards and three steps back. 
> 
> You guys know the drill. Leave kudos or a comment if you've enjoyed and keep yourself cool in these dog days!


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